


All Of The Stars

by dragonofdispair, Rizobact



Series: Chase The Sky Into The Ocean [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE POLITICS, Alien Biology, Alien Mythology/Religion, Also Jazz Climbs All The Things, Arcee is a Good Fem-Bro, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Gotta Fill Out That World Somehow, Hand Feeding, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Magic, No Really They Totally Will, Noble AU, OCs - Freeform, Politics, Polyhexians Will Eat Anything, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Worldbuilding, barbarian au, culture clash, femme!Jazz, femme!Ricochet, femme!prowl, gender bending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 90,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: Sequel toEvery Breaking Wave: Prowl and Jazz are finally bonded, by Polyhexian custom and in spark, but the marriage of an Imperial Princess of Praxus is no simple affair. A barbarian and a not-perfect princess have a ways to go before they reach happily ever after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NaNoWriMo… o.o… O.O… @.@ /flop
> 
> You saw that right: this was our NaNoWriMo project. We wrote and finished the first draft in November, but decided we wanted to edit it and have it beta’d before posting. Which we did, and here it is! 
> 
> Beta’d by Skywinder. Thanks!

_But both our hearts believe_  
_All of these stars will guide us home_  
          ~ Ed Sheeran, [All of the Stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkqVm5aiC28)

.

.

.

Prowl supposed she should be grateful not to have been summoned to this discussion in front of the full court or, worse, during petitioning joors, where it would be seen and discussed by most of Praxus. Nothing of the sort had happened yet, but at this point she wouldn’t put it past the king to do something like that. Over a vorn after Jazz had kidnapped her, Prowl was still not his favorite person.

Ironically, it didn’t help that Prowl’s behavior in the whole mess had been beyond reproach. Jazz had returned her, but not before Prowl had fallen in love; not just with the barbarian who had taken her, but also with the life, the promise of adventure, and everything else Jazz could offer. Not before Jazz had convinced Prowl they were spark resonant. Still, Prowl had left her behind to return to Praxus and do her duty to her people. It had been Arcee, and Iacon’s Prime, who had balked at a political bonding with a femme with a known spark resonant — spark resonance being sacred to the Iaconi. To Prowl, who had done her best to understand her former-intended’s culture, a bewildering array of things were considered sacred or profane under the Covenant of Primus, Iacon’s primary religious text. Nevertheless the Covenant was considered law in Iacon, law that even the Prime was bound by, and so he had insisted Prowl be set free to pursue her lover and that Praxus provide another heir to bond to Arcee to seal their treaty.

That was one reason the king was still unhappy with Prowl, even though the new treaty was much more favorable to Praxus than the original had been. It would have angered Arcee (and through her, the Prime) to exile Prowl and fully strip her of her rank as Princess, and that left Praxus with two potential heirs. By royal decree, Silverstreak was first in line, of course, and Prowl would be perfectly happy for him to _stay_ first, and to eventually call him King, but historically Praxus (or any of the Galifarian Successor States, really) had never done well when there were multiple potential heirs. A country needed an heir; more than one was simply a recipe for civil war.

Of course, that wasn’t the _only_ reason the king had to dislike Prowl. Between being saddled with two heirs and the three conflicts the mess had nearly kicked off (when the treaty with Iacon was supposed to help _prevent_ Praxus from being drawn into major conflicts), there was more than enough ill will to make Prowl a court outcast over the last vorn.

A vorn and a season, Prowl corrected her thoughts. She would be joining Jazz on her ship soon, to spend a vorn — three seasons — with her bonded’s people. She needed to start shifting her thinking to the Polyhexians division of the vorn into a cycle of three seasons: the harvest season, the war season, and the storm season.

The harvest season was well known in certain parts of Praxus (like the city of Hightower, the country’s largest and oldest port city) more commonly as the trade season. During this season, Polyhexian warriors, who were banned from any sort of fighting except during specific events like defending a claim on a potential mate or attempting to rescue a kidnapped mech, instead took the things they’d found or won during the previous two seasons and tried to trade them for other goods.

The other two seasons weren’t known by any name in Praxus. They were just the rest of the vorn, when Praxan ships and settlements weren’t protected by the harvest season truce. The names Polyhexians gave them — war season and storm season — seemed rather self-explanatory, but having interacted with Jazz (or any other Polyhexians, for that matter) only in the trade— _harvest_ season, Prowl couldn’t claim she truly understood what they entailed. She had only a Praxan’s perspective and Jazz’s stories. Those stories were informative to a point, of course, but Jazz also had quite the flair for a well-told tale, and Prowl couldn’t know what was exaggeration and what wasn’t. Not yet. She was looking forward to gaining the experience to put those stories into context.

A whole cycle of seasons spent with her bondmate, finally getting to start learning the answers to some of her many, many questions… Prowl would endure what she had to in Praxus, but it would be a lie to say she wasn’t looking forward to the escape. Even the short journey to Hightower to meet Jazz and accompany her back to Praxus for their formal wedding before they left together for good would be a welcome break.

Arriving at the private councilroom, Prowl stopped to announce herself. “It’s Prowl,” she called, waiting at the door for the king to acknowledge her and invite her in, and taking the moment to ensure her tiara was situated correctly around her chevron. She could feel the star-shell that was the centerpiece of the first gift Jazz had given her dangling right where it should over her collar faring; the choker was much less prone to shifting out of place than her tiara! “You wished to see me, your majesty?”

“Yes,” the king responded after a few seconds. “Come in.”

Every room for meetings or the like in the castle had a throne situated at the head of the table, a constant reminder of the omnipresence of the king here in his domain, even when he wasn’t in attendance. Now, of course, the throne was occupied by his imposing form; at least, he was imposing to any Praxan. Prowl’s optics were, as they always were, drawn to him first before she automatically lowered them to kneel upon entering His Most Honorable Imperial Highness’ presence.

As she knelt she catalogued the presence of three others: two guards, one on either side of the throne, and the king’s current favorite advisor, who was already seated at the small conference table. _Mirage._ In the last vorn, she had gotten far too acquainted with the sight of Mirage’s feet next to her king’s. And somewhere around here the king’s secretary would be lurking, waiting to be summoned forward to fetch and carry.

A private chat — as private as anyone, including his heir, got — with the king.

Sundance twined herself around Prowl’s arms, but Prowl didn’t let the impertinent cat any closer to the table. Her familiar might not be seen as another aspect of Prowl herself here, as Polyhexians saw her, but in Praxus familiars were still seen as extensions of the mage who owned them, and as such hers was expected to act properly.

Sundance, like Prowl herself, disliked acting properly — something Prowl hadn’t even realized about herself until she’d been temporarily freed from doing so with Jazz. The cat was just more vocal in her protests.

“Rise, Prowl,” the king addressed her informally, which Prowl could no longer take as permission to do the same. “Come take your place at my table.”

Once, “her place” had been directly to the King’s right, in the place of his primary heir; now, that was Silverstreak’s place, and she was relegated one chair further down. Prowl might have been thrilled to place Silverstreak above herself, but it irked her to see Mirage seated directly to the king’s left.

The noble wasn’t quite impassive enough to hide how his gaze lingered on the blue line of paint marking where her chest would open to reveal her spark to a lover. Prowl had let most of the marks Jazz had put on her during their courtship fade, but that one, the one that actually marked her as bonded according to Polyhexian tradition, she had kept neat and fresh. Most people had the good grace not to stare, at least overtly.

With all the dignity and grace she could muster, Prowl assumed her seat and settled Sundance in her lap. “Would your majesty share the reason for this meeting?” she asked, no longer as willing to presume as she once had been. Even if he didn’t take offense, she couldn’t always predict the king as well as she had in the past, and she had no desire to guess wrongly (and be corrected) in front of Mirage. “I was glad to receive your summons, as I was hoping to have an audience before my departure.”

“It will be good to see you properly married at last,” King Bluestreak answered fondly. “Even if the circumstances are not to my liking. There are just a few things I would like to discuss about the wedding — not the ceremony, but what happens after. What it means for an heir to be bonded, especially to a general from another country.”

He waved and Icicle, the secretary, scurried out from the alcove where she had been waiting. She placed a pack of flimsies on the table between the king and Mirage, who in a show of just how much he was currently favored by the king, was the first to reach for them. He flipped through them until he found the report he wanted, which he placed in the king’s hand.

“As you have undoubtedly heard,” Bluestreak continued, “this vorn has been an unusually active one for Polyhexian pirates. I would have expected the opposite.”

Mirage spoke as the king paused. “Unless they are indulging in a final hurrah before a treaty by marriage is finalized.”

That was a little snippy, but Prowl refused to respond in kind. “Having not yet had the opportunity to speak with Jazz about the matter, I can only speculate on the reasons for an increase in raid activity,” she said evenly. Mirage was almost certainly wrong about it being a final hurrah, but not because her marriage to Jazz — which by Polyhexian standards was already as formalized as things got — carried the kind of weight that would cause the raids to stop. There were too many groups, too many clans, involved, and Jazz didn’t command them all. Unfortunately, as things stood, Prowl didn’t actually know how much influence Jazz really had. She only knew enough to know she didn’t know enough, as it were. “It is my hope, among others, to discuss the attacks on Praxan vessels with her to come to a better understanding of the practice.”

Bluestreak sighed and handed the report back to Mirage, who slid it across the table to Prowl. “At the very least you could perhaps convince your intended not to attack our ships personally?”

Of course the report — one of those rare reports delivered by surviving sailors — did not outright identify Jazz among the attackers, but the description was close too close to be coincidence: a white femme and a black one, both with pale blue markings, who fought side-by-side. The white femme even had what was described as “stolen” decorations akin to those Praxan nobles wore in some ceremonies, gems and metal decals, lacquered to her armor.

Stolen, or gifted during the ritual where Prowl had kidnapped and claimed Jazz as her bondmate.

Having Jazz all but named in the report was embarrassing, something Mirage was only too keen to capitalize on, but Prowl didn’t let it rattle her. “If Jazz has been attacking our ships,” she said, acknowledging the possibility without definitively incriminating her, “then I am confident I will be able to affect at least some measure of improvement to the situation.” She would not, however, promise to stop the raids. She didn’t want Jazz and her warriors attacking her people, of course she didn’t! But while she would absolutely make an effort to convince her to stop, the decision would ultimately be Jazz’s. After all, she’d known Jazz was going to participate in the war season when they’d last parted ways, and had requested then that she not lead any raids against her people if at all possible. Jazz hadn’t made any promises, other than agreeing that they could talk more about it later.

“I’m sure you will,” the king murmured. “One way or another. If Polyhex’s soldiers are so… excitable as to need an outlet even in peacetime, we could certainly offer one in return for ceasing their piracy.”

“Your majesty refers to the uprising in Kaon,” Prowl guessed, this time certain she knew where the king was going with the subject. While the rebellion that had broken out in the neighboring kingdom had remained confined to its borders so far, there was no guarantee against (and an almost ironclad historical precedent for) the conflict eventually spreading to the other Galifarian Successor States. It almost had once already, a tense three way standoff between Praxus, Iacon and Kaon being one of the problems exacerbated by the uncertainty of things between Praxus and Iacon due to Prowl’s new circumstances. Only the re-solidification of their alliance and the arrival of Praxan troops to support the Iaconi had prevented further escalation. “Has the situation there been deteriorating?”

“The uprising is now all but a civil war,” Bluestreak confirmed. “Our spies confirm that the rebellion’s leaders are using some form of unknown magics to invigorate the criminals and mercenaries serving as their armies, and its leader cannot be struck down by magic, either arcane or divine. Kaon has begun to pull troops from its borders. It remains to be seen how long Starscream,” Vos’ Emperor, “can resist the temptation to grab territory while Decimus,” the Prime Minister of Kaon’s senate, “is distracted.”

“Which means we may soon have to defend our own territory or Iacon’s.” Something that would be much easier with the support of extra troops from Polyhex, or, at the very least, without needing to split their attentions and resources between a war on land and continuing raids at sea with the occasional inland incursion. Being able to pull the standing armies from Hightower and other coastal strongholds would go a long way toward securing them in the event that Iacon called for aid in a full scale conflict, but they couldn’t do that if Polyhex continued their usual attacks — let alone their increased ones.

“We would be greatly appreciative of our new ally’s help,” Mirage said silkily. “The prowess of Polyhexian soldiers is legendary. Surely a small task for Praxus’ new _ambassador.”_

“I will consider it one of my highest priorities,” Prowl managed without grinding her teeth. That had been awfully insulting. Sundance flexed her claws against Prowl’s plating, and while it might have been gratifying to let her leap across the table and scratch the noble’s smug face, Prowl laid a restraining hand on her back. “Not the time or place, love,” she meowed softly.

The king’s frown indicated he also wasn’t happy with the snippy comment, though he didn’t reprimand Mirage for it. “The princess will do her best,” he said mildly. “As much as I like to picture looks of newfound dismay replacing the conceited expressions of certain foreign generals when they witness a barbarian’s charge, it may be simple reality that a country of seafarers cannot aid us in a land-bound war. A truce, a _lasting_ truce, will suffice if that is the case.”

So. Those were her marching orders. “I understand,” Prowl said, fixing those goals in her mind. She couldn’t do anything about Mirage undercutting her in her absence, but if she could bring back a truce, troops, or better yet, both, he would be hard pressed to downplay her victory. “With any luck, our union will provide other unanticipated benefits as well.”

“We all look forward to seeing what those benefits might be,” Mirage said, this time without any trace of insult or snippiness, only smoothly delivered confidence that had Bluestreak nodding in agreement. Prowl didn’t need any elaboration to follow his line of thought; Mirage had a keen optic for the material, and his interest in Polyhex was predominantly economic. Praxus made a great deal of money off the items they acquired from Polyhexian traders. If they could cut out the need to deal with the traders to get their hands on shells, pearls, seagems, and the like, they could make even more, and use the extra funds to finance defense and infrastructure projects.

She could say that much about Mirage. As much as she otherwise didn’t like him, he was looking out for the good of kingdom, not _just_ himself.

“I will endeavor to send back reports of my progress,” Prowl promised, hoping that those reports would be good ones. “However, I expect there will be long stretches of time where I will be completely out of contact.”

“I anticipated as much,” Bluestreak spoke over another of Mirage’s potentially snippy comments about how distance should not be a barrier to a _wizard_ like Prowl, which he had made quite often in the last vorn. Distance very much _was_ a barrier! Even magic had its limits. Prowl didn’t know what all of those limits were, but for now she knew of no way to communicate over the distance between Praxus and Polyhex — and she _had_ looked. “Hopefully you can correspond often,” because more reports, by the nature of relying on Polyhexian sailors as couriers, would mean Prowl’s negotiations were going well. “For now though, I will simply enjoy being able to witness your wedding. I look forward to meeting your intended.”

“I look forward to introducing her to you and your court, your majesty.” Prowl had some concerns based on how different their cultures were, but her smile was genuine. She really was looking forward to showing Jazz her home, and to showing her off in turn. Knowing Jazz and her penchant for showing off, she’d probably enjoy all the attention. “Am I correct in my understanding that Lord Ultra Magnus of Hightower will be providing us with an additional translator?” Jazz barely knew enough Praxan to ask directions, and Prowl was the only mech or femme in the capital city approaching even conversational ability in either Polyhexian or the argot used by the coastal cities to conduct trade. Having only one person Jazz could talk to fluently was not an acceptable state of affairs.

“At Mirage’s insistence, I have requested two,” Bluestreak said.

Mirage certainly looked pleased with himself. Probably because he’d gotten the king to concede and listen to him on the matter, but for once, Prowl didn’t resent him for it. “Thank you,” she said, directing her gratitude to him even though he hadn’t done it for her sake. “I am sure that will help her feel less isolated and more welcome here.”

“Of course,” he responded sincerely. “I want the wedding to go as well as it can.”

“I’m sure he does,” Sundance yawned, thoroughly unimpressed. “As long as the wedding goes off, Praxus gets better access to all those goodies he wants so much.”

Prowl kept her answering meows too quiet for the mechs to hear. “I know, but his motive doesn’t matter as long as it helps Jazz.”

“Very good!” Bluestreak clapped his hand together and smiled. “I suppose the only thing we need to proceed now is Prowl’s intended!” He stood, prompting both Mirage and Prowl to stand and bow, as Icicle came in again to retrieve the soldiers’ reports from the table. Sundance hissed quietly at being so suddenly upended from her mage’s warm lap.

The king held out his hand to Prowl, who stepped around the vacant chair to take it reverently and press the center of her chevron to the back of his fingers. “Have a safe trip,” he said softly. “Princess.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Prowl replied, more relieved than she thought she’d be at the formal, but still warm, dismissal. Given how heavily the king had favored Mirage throughout the meeting, she’d begun to worry she would be sent away without any acknowledgement. She believed in her course with all of her spark, and she knew why it had angered and frustrated Bluestreak, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss the relationship they’d had before things became so strained. Leaving on a (relatively) good note made her feel much better, and eased her fears that Jazz would be treated poorly because of her own lack of favor. “I will return swiftly.” With the love of her life.

She released his hand and backed out of the room, missing the words the king exchanged with Mirage before dismissing him as well. Mirage was too good a politician to show any sign or reaction to what was being said, but right as she turned to head down the hall, she did see the noble was not offered the king’s hand.

“Looks like someone went a little too far,” Sundance purred with undisguised glee. “I would have scratched him for you, you know.”

“I know,” Prowl smiled down at her cat. “And the knowledge is enough.” Scratching Mirage wouldn’t help her in the long run, any more than thinking this temporary mistake on his part would prove his downfall; they were playing a long game, and Prowl would have to be patient and clever if she wanted to win. “Save your claws for the koekoea in Hightower.”

.

.

.

Prowl had arranged for a carriage. It would have been faster to pack everything in her interior and drive hard for the coast, as she had found she had the capacity for some time ago. Travelling back to Hightower after Jazz had released her had only been the first time she’d driven long-distance on her own four tires; developing her new science of investigating the past by looking for and at ruins, for which she had had very little support or finances, had honed her abilities considerably. She hadn’t always had enough zap ponies to carry herself, her supplies, and the few guards and handful of eager students willing to help for those excursions. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but skipping the formal farewells of the court by leaving without an escort in the middle of the night had its appeal. Only the thought that Jazz would find that sort of driving a hardship, and would most likely refuse to even complain lest it be taken as weakness, had Prowl sitting through the ceremonies and fake sniffles and waving while servants packed the carriage and guards waited patiently. _They_ got their own ponies, and Prowl refused to be jealous.

At least she had managed to pare down the equipment the castle steward insisted she bring, from the pavilion she had depended on during her first trip to Hightower to a collection of small tents. Idly, she wondered if Jazz would be comfortable enough with them. The islander had been able to fall asleep and recharge anywhere they’d found themselves while they explored the coast during the last trade season, after they’d bonded, but even sheltered under the waterproof tarp that covered the sleeping pad on the catamaran, they’d been open to the stars.

She also insisted that her personal valet stay behind (a state of affairs the femme was getting distressingly familiar with) to ensure that Jazz’s rooms were properly prepared. Near Prowl’s, not in the guest wing of the castle as the more prudish members of the staff would try to arrange. Interfacing before marriage was encouraged, if scandalous to be caught doing, but Jazz and she were already _bonded!_

Prowl would not be taking any servants on this trip, in fact. She would not need them while travelling, and Ultra Magnus would provide everything she needed in Hightower itself. Of course she was taking some of her books and research, as well as some simple storybooks to aid in teaching Jazz what Praxan she could in the limited amount of time they would have, but she could carry those well enough on her own.

She no longer needed to carry her spellbook though. Sundance carried the knowledge of all her spells with her, and had helped her prepare the spells she wanted for the cycle before coming down to endure their drawn-out departure. There might be guards accompanying them, but Prowl was far from defenseless in her own right, even though the chances of needing to defend themselves was almost negligible.

At last everything was finally in order (as verified by Sundance’s careful scrutiny). Prowl bid her final farewells and made her way to the carriage, eager to get underway. “I trust you intend to make good speed?” she asked the guard captain.

“Trailfire, your highness,” he introduced himself. “Last report was that the roads and weather were both good for the trip. We don’t expect any delays at all!”

“Excellent, Trailfire.” Prowl hoped that would hold. The journey from the capital to Hightower generally took fifteen to twenty cycles, travelling as they were with the carriage; already long enough that there was a good chance Jazz would arrive in the port city before them. “I don’t want to keep my intended,” she couldn’t officially call Jazz her bonded until _after_ the wedding, “waiting.”

“Of course! Your highness.” He nodded and held out his hand to help her into the carriage. “We will make all possible speed.”

Prowl accepted his assistance, despite being perfectly capable of getting into the carriage on her own. Lady Sundance darted in around her feet, zipping straight for the seat she had been about to sit on. “I hope you’re comfortable?” Prowl said, staring down at the sprawled out cat. How could something so small take up so much space?

Smugly, the cat shut off her optics and feigned sleep, like she’d been sitting in that spot for joors. “Very comfortable, thank you for asking.”

Prowl huffed to cover a laugh, settling on the other seat rather than trying to argue with an immovable object. “We’re ready,” she announced to Trailfire, signalling him to close the door.

With a bow, he did. Prowl could hear him issuing orders to move out at once.

Having escaped the court, there was still the rest of the city to travel through before they were properly on the road. Mechs and femmes came out of their shops and houses to watch the Princess’ carriage pass, and though there wasn’t the cheering she knew to expect when she returned with her intended, there was more than enough noise to make reading difficult. After rereading one paragraph for the third time she decided to give it up until they were past the walls. Instead she watched out the window, trying to imagine what Jazz would make of her home.

The city of Praxus was different from Hightower, for all that they shared some architectural similarities. The largest difference for Jazz, Prowl expected, would be the lack of the sea. Even from the highest point of the city — her astronomy tower in the castle — the Rust Sea wasn’t visible. In fact, from many places within the city, nothing was visible except the city itself. The forests and mountains beyond were largely hidden by the buildings, though they occasionally peeked through on the horizon between the rooftops. If she was concerned about Jazz’s comfort sleeping with a tent between them and the stars, how much more would being hemmed in by buildings bother her? The buildings in Hightower were, for the most part, shorter and spaced farther apart, allowing for a longer view.

Not that they would be staying in the maze of buildings that comprised bulk of the city, of course, and the view from the castle was magnificent: the city glittered around it both day and night by sun and lamplight, while the mountains rose up all around. At this time of the vorn, the tallest peaks were already white-capped with snow; soon it would blanket the city as well. What would Jazz make of snow? Hightower never saw it, being right at sea level and warmer than Praxus.

Nevermind how undignified it might be — Prowl was looking forward to a snowball fight.

A joor after they left the city walls behind them, Trailfire pulled his pony up beside the carriage itself and politely tapped on the window to get her attention.

“If it’s not impertinent, your highness, we could move a little faster if you rode or drove for a few joors a cycle. I, ah, was told you wouldn’t mind the suggestion.” His doorwings lowered uncertainly. Obviously he doubted he’d been told the truth.

“I’ll stay where I am,” Sundance purred imperiously, still “asleep” on the seat she’d claimed. “Where it’s warm. And dry. You can go have fun in the mud.”

“It’s not _that_ muddy,” Prowl informed her, though she couldn’t deny it was colder outside. And wet, though only in the form of a light, hazy mist, not rain. “I don’t mind the suggestion at all,” she said to Trailfire. “I would much prefer to arrive sooner than in perfect comfort.”

“As the Imperial Princess pleases. I’ll have the rearguard drop back so you can stop and climb out whenever you wish without calling a full halt.” the mech said deferentially, then dropped back to discuss the changes with the formation of guards behind the carriage.

Prowl forced herself to give them enough time to rearrange themselves. She was anxious to get to Hightower (and Jazz) as soon as possible, but there was no real need to hurry. Still, driving would give her something to _do._ As much as she enjoyed reading, she’d gotten used to being more physically active than she had been in the past, driving and hiking to sites of interest as part of her scholarly pursuits, as well as doing combat drills with one of the army’s wizards.

Besides, she didn’t have enough books with her to keep herself occupied for the entire trip if she did nothing else.

As soon as they were ready for her, Prowl stopped the carriage just long enough to climb down and transform, sliding into position behind it in the middle of the procession. Without her weight in it the carriage was able to move just that much faster, and didn’t need to take quite as much care to ride smoothly. It was still smooth enough for Sundance though. Prowl didn’t hear any meowling complaints from inside as they got up to speed, so she turned her attention to the road.

The zap ponies and the carriage couldn’t go anywhere near as fast as Prowl could drive, and as a result she had a lot of attention to spare for looking at the countryside. It was also slow enough that she wasn’t at all winded when the captain called for the first stop to rest the ponies. She remembered thinking the thick, tangled forests of crystals were creepy during her first trip to Hightower. Beautiful, but dark and mysterious and full of potential dangers — or at least the stories of such.

There had always been stories that the forests were home to mysterious mech-like creatures, ghosts or fey. Prowl had dismissed them as the imaginings of citizens frightened of what was outside the safe walls of their cities, but a vorn (a vorn and a _season,_ she reminded herself) ago she’d had no reason to think they could have any basis in truth. She still didn’t believe anyone actually _lived_ outside the cities, but the stories were more than old enough to potentially predate the rise of Galifar, calling back to a transition from a people living primarily off the mechanimals that inhabited the land to a people that relied on the mines. Those “fey” could be veiled mentions of the last holdouts for an older way of life.

All speculation, of course. But it was fun for her to contemplate now, rather than frightening.

“What is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen travelling this road?” she asked the gathered guards, curious whether any of them had any stories she hadn’t heard.

“Don’t know what you’d call strange, princess,” one said fairly informally while a few of the others whispered to each other in hushed tones.

“Interesting travellers, unexpected mechanimals,” Prowl elaborated. “Things you couldn’t explain.”

Another mech leaned forward eagerly. “I used to be assigned this route, escorting merchants from the coast. I’ve probably travelled this road three hundred times, but there’s one thing — one night — that will always be etched in my memory, princess.”

“Oh?” She turned her attention on him. “Tell me.”

“It was clear and cold. We’d been slogging through snow the whole way down the mountain from Praxus,” he began. “And the temperature dropped even further as the sun set. The sky was still orange and we could all see the steam from our fans. We had to huddle together for warmth around our fire, which kept sputtering no matter how attentive we were — it was _that_ cold. As you can imagine, it was going to be an absolutely _miserable_ night for whoever was on watch, so we drew lots. Guess who drew the short wire.”

“I imagine you must have been the lucky mech,” Prowl chuckled, as did a couple of the other guards. “Did you have a partner to stay up with you?”

“Naw. This is a main highway, regularly patrolled and cleared. No one was expecting anything strange, and on a night that cold, there nothing’s dumb enough to move. Turbowolves wouldn’t hunt if they were half a step from starving. Setting watches was almost more of a formality. Halfway through the night I was to wake up my relief, but we didn’t need more than that.”

This also got several nods from other guards. Prowl, who had yet to personally encounter turbowolves but had read about them and how to deal with them when she’d begun her archaeological explorations, shivered at the thought of how cold it would have to be to keep them from a meal if they were starving.

“So, freezing my armor off, I’m trying to stay alert enough to warn everyone just in case. The sputtering of the fire isn’t helping. The shadows of the forest shifted and twitched hungrily,” the mech grinned and made a descriptive gesture like a pair of claws reaching out to grab her, “and complete darkness reigned only a few steps from our camp.” Something Prowl had experienced, with Jazz; away from the light of the cities, the night was so much darker than she was used to. “And obviously I’m thinking all sorts of odd, fanciful things if I’m describing the shadows as _hungry_ so I decide that I’m going to get up and pace around camp a bit, warm up a bit, get my fluids going. Third circuit around the camp and I’m starting to feel a bit less muddled.

“That’s when I see the other mech. All white, like the moon.”

“Another mech?” Prowl leaned forward. “Did he see you? Did he say anything?”

“Travellers aren’t unusual on this route — we’ll probably see some ourselves. There are even a few merchants that tackle it on their own, without an escort,” the mech clarified. “More around the trade season than during the snows, but it happens. So I waved him over and he came. I admit that I was probably feeling more fuzzy-headed than I should have, or else I would have noticed the lack of a merchant’s trailer full of goods. I don’t know, maybe at the time I thought it had gotten bogged in the snow and he’d been forced to leave it behind. Just a weird thing in hindsight.

“I didn’t want to wake my companions or our charges though, so I didn’t try talking to him until he was closer. That’s when I noticed he was making no sound,” the mech’s voice lowered, hushed, like he was sharing a secret. “Nothing. Not even the slightest bit of noise from his engine or vents.”

Prowl was hardly making a sound either. She was too caught up in the story to want anything to interrupt it.

“Now this, I found to be rather strange, though it took me a moment. By the time it occurred to me that this moon-white mech might be trouble, he’d gotten close… _very_ close. Which was when— RAWR!”

Prowl gasped as the mech lunged, startled by the sudden movement and noise. She didn’t quite overbalance as she jerked backward, but it was close.

The storyteller wasn’t the only guard to burst out laughing.

“You made that up,” Prowl put together as she recovered, feeling equal measures embarrassed and amused. “Was any of that story true?”

“Hehe…” The mech brought his giggles under control. “Well, it’s true it can get that cold, and sometimes you can meet up with lonesome merchants on the road, but otherwise… nope. I spent the night freezing my aft off, then woke up the next poor schmuck for his turn to freeze his aft off, and that’s all that happened.”

“You have a very active imagination,” Prowl said, shaking her head. She supposed she’d set herself up for that one though.

The mech shrugged. “Road’s full of ghost stories, but really, this is a highway. There aren’t a lot of ‘strange things’ to see.”

“I saw a crater once,” another guard piped up. “Like those in descriptions of old battles, when something launched from a catapult hits the ground hard enough to dent, only this was bigger and everything around it was burned. And there was nothing in it that could have made that kind of mark, no catapult rounds.”

That was something Prowl had heard about too — but not just in the context of battle stories. “Did you see a falling star before encountering the crater? Or was it old by the time you found it?”

The mech shrugged. “There weren’t any fires, so I guess it was old. If there was a falling star, it wasn’t bright enough to be seen during the day. I’d point it out to you when we pass, but when we got to Praxus and reported it, they decided the crater was a hazard and sent a crew out to fill it in. Crystals took a while to regrow, but…” he shrugged again.

“It’s alright.” Falling stars that burned away completely on impact didn’t reveal much, since there wasn’t really much to look at besides the crater, which, “Better it was taken care of rather than run the risk of someone stumbling across it and becoming injured.”

A couple of others, including the first storyteller, had also seen the crater before it had been completely filled, and everyone agreed that that was about as strange as it got on this particular route. Prowl wasn’t overly surprised. As heavily travelled as the road was, the likelihood of anything truly bizarre not eventually being discovered (and dealt with) was quite small.

It at least provided a point of interest two cycles later, as the guards who had seen the crater argued about its location when they drew close to where it had been. No one could find any traces of it — again, not surprising given the efficiency of the road crews — but it was entertaining for Prowl to listen to the spirited debate. It was also a pleasant distraction from the misty rain that had begun to fall, and which continued to fall almost the entire way to Hightower.

The only reprieve they got from it came in the form of fog when they got closer to Hightower. Thick, heavy layers of it had curled around them the last couple of mornings, obscuring the road and slowing their progress. The cold, yucky rain was easier to move in, though easier was only a relative term. Their progress slowed enough that Prowl didn’t feel bad about staying inside the carriage with Sundance, cozy and warm with her books, instead of driving until they reached the city walls.

“Princess,” Trailfire greeted after tapping on the window to get her attention. He and the other guards still used her title, but all of them had become more comfortable addressing her as the journey progressed. Prowl opened the door to make conversation easier. “We’re approaching the—”

“PROWL!” Jazz’s voice called out, strangely muffled and twisted by the fog.

Surprised by the sudden shout, the guards drew in, readying themselves for trouble.

“It’s alright,” Prowl said quickly, marking her place and setting her book aside. “That would be my intended. I’m ‘ere!” she called out in Polyhexian, though of course Jazz already knew that. Fog obscured vision and distorted sound, but it couldn’t wash away scent like the rain that had stopped a few joors ago. “Hope y’weren’t waitin’ too long!”

Jazz appeared in the fog like a ghost from one of the now-many stories Prowl had heard during the trip, glowing from multiple lines of the wake-light paint that marked her as bonded. Nimbly, she sidestepped the guards like she didn’t even see them and trotted over to the carriage, which she climbed up onto, squirming between Prowl and Trailfire to engulf her bonded in a hug. Prowl found herself swept up in a fierce kiss, which she returned passionately.

“You’re getting stared at,” Sundance announced, uncurling to _streeeetch!_ and hop up beside Prowl. “You’d think they’d never seen anyone kiss before.”

If Prowl’s mouth hadn’t been thoroughly occupied, she might have used it to point out that they probably hadn’t. Kissing was a Polyhexian thing, particularly the kind of kissing Jazz was doing.

Despite the moisture clinging to her armor, Jazz’s frame was _warm_ against her, and soft and smooth under her fingers. Praxans could polish a mech until the paint felt like glass, but Polyhexian polish gave Jazz a velvety and silky texture that was like nothing else Prowl had ever touched. So soft… And very, very warm, especially where her chest was pressed up against Prowl’s…

“I,” Jazz said breathlessly before pressing another kiss to Prowl’s cheek, “missed,” then her audio, “you,” the center of her chevron, “soooo much,” and finally one chevron tip, adding a lustful _lick_ as she pulled away.

“I missed ya too.” More than she’d let herself dwell on. Prowl caught Jazz’s hand, running her fingers over the clawed digits as she took in her bonded’s choice of outfit. She was wearing all of her usual jewelry — as well as some new pieces Prowl didn’t recognize — but also the blue and black sarongs wrapped around her waist and trailing over her legs. They, along with the pointed edges of the hikurere shawl around her shoulders, signified that she wasn’t planning on swimming, sailing, or fighting. The flowing cloth would hinder, though it wouldn’t prevent, such physical activities… but they would have _no_ bearing on the physical activity she seemed intent on.

“Not here,” Prowl said, capturing the hand trailing over her chest seam. “I wanna, believe me,” and she did, but, “I need t’let Ultra Magnus know I’m here. Then,” she raised that hand to Jazz’s lips, “we can find somewhere no one’ll interrupt us.”

“Kay.” Jazz didn’t pressure her — she never did — but that didn’t stop her from pressing a less-than-chaste kiss to her lover’s collar strut and almost climbing Prowl in her effort to re-memorize her frame in the few kliks she had.

“Mrrow,” Sundance meowed insistently, reaching out to bat at Jazz’s wandering hands as soon as Prowl let them go.

“‘Course!” Jazz unwound herself to finish climbing up into the carriage and scritch the cat’s itchy spots. She knew _just_ how to use her claws for maximum effect and the cybercat was soon purring up a storm. “Lookit how big y’are! Fierce hunter!” she cooed. She grinned at Prowl, showing off her fangs. “Smokescreen told me this was th’road y’would be arrivin’ on. Said t’go stand out ‘ere an’ y’would have’ta run over me t’git in. Glad it didn’t come t’that!”

“So’m I!” Prowl was all too able to imagine Smokescreen saying just that. Jazz’s twin wouldn’t have been any help, either; if Smokescreen had told Jazz to play in traffic, Ricochet would have sat back and laughed. “Here, sit so we can git movin’ again,” she said, settling herself and pulling Jazz flush against her side. She didn’t hear any complaints. “Continue on to the castle,” she switched back to Praxan for Trailfire, “and send someone ahead to let Lord Ultra Magnus know we’ve arrived.”

“Yes, your highness.” He shook himself free of the trance he seemed to have fallen into watching them, and started snapping at the guards to stop staring as well. Prowl could just imagine what was going through their minds: Who is that? What are all those strange cloth things? She’s visibly armed! What is she _doing_ with the Princess?!

If Jazz noticed the commotion she had caused, she didn’t say anything. She just snuggled up against her bonded’s plating and nuzzled her fondly. Prowl heard several deep in-vents that had to be Jazz taking in her scent, because afterward, “Hmmm… y’smell like rain’n dust’n smoke,” she murmured huskily in Prowl’s audio. “Makes m’wanna lick it off ya.”

“Not here,” Prowl repeated, though she didn’t mind the thought of Jazz doing such a thing once they no longer had an audience. It was an odd, _visceral,_ thought, like nothing any dignified Praxan would have, but she still found it very arousing. “Did y’have any trouble comin’ inta port?” Hightower didn’t usually admit Polyhexian vessels into the harbor outside the trade season, but, since they’d known it would be the storm season when Jazz was supposed to arrive, they’d worked out a set of signals before parting ways designed to allow her unchallenged passage. “When did ya get in?”

Jazz took another deep vent of Prowl’s (apparently) rain/dust/smoke scented plating. “Just a few sunrises ago, no problem,” she said breathily against Prowl’s armor, making her shiver. “Made good time; we were already out when th’stars heralded th’storms t’come, an’ th’winds were all singin’ romantic songs th’whole way.” As poetic as that sounded to Prowl, it was possible Jazz meant that literally. Polyhexian religion anthropomorphized _everything,_ and the idea that the winds could be sentimental and hurrying them back to each other was perfectly ordinary to Jazz’s view. “Smokescreen’s got a cave near th’harbor an’ Ricochet’s all but moved int’ it. I’ve been sleepin’ on th’kattumaram.” She nuzzled Prowl again, rubbing the underside of her chin against Prowl’s shoulder and pressing their cheeks together. “Gonna make y’smell mine again. Gonna give th’winds a little lighnin’ t’play with…” she whispered.

Prowl shivered, not entirely unaffected by the words. “I’ve missed makin’ sparkles with ya,” she whispered back. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted! “First we gotta see Ultra Magnus though. And yer gonna have t’come up t’th’castle, ‘stead’a livin’ on th’kattumaram.”

“Why?” The tone would have been quizzical, except Jazz was clearly much more interested in consummating their reunion than anything else, though she didn’t let her hands wander… too much.

“Cuz that’s why yer here,” Prowl said, once again catching those roving hands and holding them reverently in her own. “T’spend th’rest’a th’season with me, learnin’ about my people and bondin’ in a way they’ll recognize.” Because the matching glowing paint on both their frames didn’t mean anything to most Praxans, especially outside of Hightower. “Can’t do that on a boat.”

“Yeah…” This time Jazz did pull back to look Prowl in the optics. “But I told Rico I’d watch th’kattumaram until we left.”

“So she’n Smokescreen could do whatever they wanted?” Which, knowing the two of them, was a very short list: drinking, gambling, and ‘facing. “‘S her turn t’watch it now.”

“Ain’t fair,” Jazz negated. “She’s gonna have t’watch it fer th’whole season while y’an me’re in Hightower,” she used the Praxan word for the city, rather than the somewhat mangled trade argot version, flawlessly. “S’only fair I watch it fer a couple more sunrises.”

“I guess so…” Prowl could see the fairness in that, really, and even if she hadn’t, it was clear it was important to Jazz. It just wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been picturing Jazz’s official visit to Praxus beginning when they both arrived in Hightower, not when they left it. “I’ll be expected t’stay in th’castle though.”

“I’ll visit,” Jazz purred, stroking the paint-mark on Prowl’s chest.

“You’d better.”

“You’d better stop it, if you care about all the staring.” The yawn that accompanied the meowed warning proved that Lady Sundance, at least, did not care. There was only one thing that concerned her. “Pet me,” she demanded, flopping over on the seat beside Jazz and pressing her feet against her leg. Obligingly Jazz reached over and scratched the speckled plating. It somehow didn’t stop her from also draping herself over Prowl and pawing at her too.

The cat was right about the staring though. Despite Trailfire’s orders not to (and the fact that it was rude to do so), the guards travelling with them did keep trying to look in through the windows at them. Prowl sighed. Let the balancing act begin. The line between asking Jazz to make concessions for her and asking her to _change_ for her was a thin one, and while the first was an unavoidable necessity, she wanted to steer clear of the second as much as possible. Prowl loved Jazz, exactly as she was.

She just didn’t want who and what Jazz was causing problems for either of them when it came to the respect and obedience of her subjects.

Of course Jazz didn’t understand either Sundance’s words or why the guards peeking in might be a problem. She was heeding Prowl’s request to wait, but certainly wasn’t keeping her unoccupied hand to herself. Or her _mouth!_

“Missed ya,” Jazz said again while her latest caress _zinged_ through Prowl’s systems.

“Missed me, or missed teasin’ me?” Prowl asked, turning her head so she could nuzzle one of Jazz’s short helm protrusions.

This time _Jazz_ shivered. “Depends. Did ‘not here’ mean ‘not at th’gate’ or ‘not in the… whatever this thing is’?” With a sudden movement Jazz stood and was leaning out the carriage’s window to look. “What _is_ this thing?” She didn’t wait for an answer, climbing _out the window and onto the roof!_

“Jazz!” Prowl leaned out the window after her, though she didn’t go so far as to actually climb out! “What’re ya doing? Yer supposed t’ride _in_ th’ _carriage,”_ she used the Praxan word, “not _on_ it!”

“S’fine,” Jazz called back. “I ain’t gonna fall.” She crawled to the back and leaned over the side to look at the wheels and how they were connected to the axle and the rest of the carriage. “Carriage, huh?” She repeated the Praxan word with only a little bit of a drawl to mark how foreign the word was to her. “S’like one’a our racing forms, only pulled by th’grazers.” The words became slightly muffled as she found something else to examine.

“Ain’t worried yer gonna fall,” Prowl said, moving across the carriage to look out the other window in an attempt to see what Jazz was doing. The surety Jazz moved with rivalled Sundance’s balance, and in the unlikely event she did fall, she knew how to do so safely. That wasn’t the issue. “But people’re gonna talk if they see you.”

“Well that’s good!” Jazz said, popping back up then looking over the edge at Prowl. “Everyone’ll see I’m a good mate fer ya!”

“Pretty sure Praxans won’t see ya climbin’ all the things as proof yer a good mate — especially things not meant fer climbin’.”

“Well if it’s _meant_ fer climbin’, that don’t prove I’m good at climbin’!”

“That…” That wasn’t what she’d meant at all, but it didn’t not make sense. Not if you considered climbing ability an attractive quality in a potential mate, which Jazz did. On the other hand, “Climbin’ ain’t all that important here.”

“I can climb th’castle.” Jazz bragged. Her grin said she’d do it too. _Had_ done so.

Before Prowl could respond to that, Jazz scampered back over to the other window and let herself back into the carriage, where she relentlessly cuddled Prowl. Her plating was cold and wet again as she purred. “Yer _warm.”_

“Sure I’m warm. _I_ didn’t go out in th’rain,” Prowl pointed out, for it had indeed started raining in earnest again, a cold drizzle that didn’t banish the fog. She grabbed the edge of a blanket and dragged it up over Jazz’s shoulders, and though it took a moment to arrange it so it wasn’t bunching up her hikurere, it did a good job of cocooning warmth around them both once it was in place. Even if it didn’t wick away the moisture like a Polyhexian sleeping pad did. “Better?”

“Wasn’t complainin’,” Jazz said, squirming closer. Her hands were wandering again. “Yer always warm.”

“You’d know, th’way ya keep checkin’,” Prowl chuckled. She directed Jazz away from her chest seam with a soft, “Later,” but didn’t dissuade her otherwise. It was something she’d had to get used to while they were courting, how handsy and touchy Jazz was, but now it felt _wrong_ not to touch her. In a (mostly) private carriage with (almost) no expectations on them for the moment, Prowl wasn’t willing to stop cuddling.

Sundance, meanwhile, sniffed and curled up on the chair opposite them. “Keep your wet away from me,” she meowed disdainfully.

They pulled up through the gate, entering the palace grounds, as Jazz started to nibble on Prowl’s neck cables, murmuring the words to the songs (she said) the winds had sung to her while sailing to Hightower. The “words” were mostly nonsense to Prowl, Jazz imitating the sounds of the wind interacting with the sail or sea, while those that were actually words made Prowl’s frame heat up in arousal… and made her glad the guards couldn’t understand! The winds, apparently, had a very _physical_ definition of “romantic”.

The carriage stopped, and Trailfire politely tapped on the door to get the attention of the occupants. When Prowl looked up, his gaze was studiously averted from the two lovers under the blanket.

“Need ya t’lemme go,” Prowl said, reluctantly disentangling herself from Jazz’s arms. “There’s a whole bunch’a stuff I have ta take care of.”

“Kay.” Jazz unwound herself. “Thought y’would wanna merge first, but I can wait.” She pressed her lips to Prowl’s for one more passionate kiss though.

“Oh, I _wanna,”_ Prowl murmured as they drew apart. “‘F I didn’t have t’be a princess first, I’d drag ya off’n have my way with ya right now.” Then let Jazz have her way with her, until neither of them had the strength to do more than lay in each other's’ arms. “But we’re in Praxus, and that means certain… rituals,” she supposed was a good comparison, “have t’be done b’fore I can do anything else.”

“Gotcha!”

Jazz kept her hands to herself as Trailfire opened the carriage door helped the Princess out. Ultra Magnus was already waiting under a temporary canopy to keep off the rain. Prowl didn’t see any courtiers or servants, just a contingent of guards standing at attention in their regular places. Not that the massive mech needed them. Ultra Magnus was not a classically Praxan frame; he looked like the hotspot had picked up some Iaconi and Kaonex influences while his spark incubated. As such, he was a truly imposing figure, and wore his size and the paint-marks of a military commander well.

“My lord,” Prowl greeted him warmly. Jazz came up behind her, and Prowl felt her bonded’s hand settle on her armor on her back, just above her hips. Possessive? Prowl supposed she couldn’t blame her… “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Welcome,” Ultra Magnus responded, “Imperial Princess Prowl. Welcome, Warrior Jazz,” who smiled, showing fangs, at her name, but otherwise didn’t seem to have understood. “My hospitality is yours. Please come inside, out of the weather. I have the same rooms you used on your previous visits prepared, as well as some for your intended… though I don’t suppose she’ll use them tonight anymore than she has the last three.” Unlike what Prowl might have expected from Mirage or another noble in the capital, those words from Ultra Magnus sounded understanding and resigned, rather than snippy or insulted. It was a refreshing change.

Finally allowing herself to be dislodged from the carriage’s interior, Sundance darted between their feet directly to the (dry) entry hall, where Prowl saw her immediately shake then settle down to lick all the wet off herself. If she hadn’t been busy, she would have teased her familiar that it wasn’t raining _that_ hard. The cat had barely gotten wet!

“I appreciate you going to the trouble. I am sure I will be quite comfortable in my rooms, though my intended has informed me that she will continue to stay with her catamaran until our departure.” Prowl was glad that Ultra Magnus didn’t seem to have taken offense at what could be construed as a refusal of hospitality, even though of course that wasn’t what Jazz meant by it at all. The Lord of Hightower, at least, understood that there was only so much that could be done when it came to convincing a Polyhexian to act differently than normal. “I understand that her twin will be looking after it in her absence, and will be staying on in the city for the season with her bonded.”

“I’m aware,” Ultra Magnus said dryly. “Hightower survives hundreds of Polyhexians visiting during the trade season; I believe we will survive playing host to just one during the off season.” Even if that one was Ricochet.

A servant waited just inside the door with a trio of towels. Ultra Magnus took one as he passed to dry off his plating. The “small” towel for him was large enough for Prowl to wrap almost entirely around herself. Jazz hung back for a few steps to shake the rain from her armor before bypassing the towel meant for her to catch back up with Prowl and help her dry with a licentious smirk. Prowl let her, enjoying the rub-down, though _she_ hadn’t gotten that wet either.

“I hope you do not mind I forwent a lavish welcome ceremony,” Ultra Magnus said as he opened the door to his personal office and gestured them in. There was already a trio of cubes of energon set out in front of the chairs. Prowl noticed that the larger, more ornate, chair that was Ultra Magnus’ own had been pulled around into the visitors’ place next to the normal guest chair; behind the desk was a simple large stool. “I thought you’d appreciate dealing with what we need to quickly, then rest from your journey. There isn’t much of a court here to appease.”

The lord dropped his towel in a basket by the door, and Prowl saw Jazz pause quizzically before she put Prowl’s towel carefully with it. “Boring!” Sundance complained, sniffing the basket and taking a quick circuit of the room. “I’m going to go hunt.” She darted out without waiting for a reply or permission.

Prowl let her go without concern. “This chair’s fer ya t’sit,” she told Jazz, gesturing to the guest chair as she took the overly-large chair for herself. Jazz climbed up and sat with her knees to her chest. “You thought correctly,” she said to Ultra Magnus. “While I would not want to deprive the court of their chance to see the two of us together,” formally, officially together, if still not wedded by Praxan custom; something the small, though not entirely provincial, court could claim as a point of pride, “I do appreciate the chance to rest first. Fresh from the road is hardly the best way to make a presentation.”

“I’ll arrange a dinner for next cycle, in the evening.” Ultra Magnus calmly passed a full cube to each of his guests. “Your translators will also be present. Please, if you find anything amiss with either of them, let me know.”

Jazz tried the liquid energon, and slurped in appreciation. With a smile, she dug into the pouch at her side and placed a handful of bluish… lumps… in the center of the desk where they all could reach them. Then (apparently tired of behaving) she climbed over the arms of the two chairs to sit with Prowl and held one of the lumps out to her. “Here. ‘S good!”

It wasn’t that the chair didn’t fit them both — being sized for Ultra Magnus, it was more than big enough to seat two femmes their size — it was just… “Yer supposed t’stay in th’other chair,” Prowl said, though she took the strange blue lump Jazz offered curiously rather than trying to dislodge her. “He doesn’t care,” inured as Ultra Magnus was to the peculiarities of Polyhexians, “an‘ I don’t mind when it’s just us two, but it’s one person to a chair when we’re—” she paused, realizing she didn’t have the words she needed. They’d spent all their time together alone, or mostly alone, on the catamaran. They’d never had to deal with being “in public” before, and Prowl couldn’t find anything in her Polyhexian vocabulary to express the concept. “When there’s others around watchin’ and talkin’ about us.”

“I’ll move when y’start yer ritual,” Jazz promised. “Should talk. Yer my mate.”

“Should talk, yeah. But there’s good talk’n bad talk.” Something they obviously needed to talk more about, when they didn’t have company. At the same time, Jazz’s continued insistence that people _should_ talk made Prowl curious and wistful to know how politics worked in Polyhex. “I’ll explain more later,” Prowl said, hefting the blue lump in her hand to draw the conversation around to it. “What’s this?”

“Ika,” Jazz answered, not moving. Prowl watched her lips purse in concentration. “Food thing,” she translated into the trade argot with a shrug. “It’s good,” she switched back to Polyhexian.

Prowl would have liked to know what mechanimal it came from — was it a mechanimal? Part of one? How was it prepared? — but she knew from past experience that Jazz’s explanations were difficult to follow when they weren’t accompanied by physical demonstrations. She focused her curiosity on tasting the ika instead, determined to learn what she could just from her own senses.

It was hard and crunchy, though not crystal-hard like the kelapa treats were once they had hardened. More like chewing on bits of gravel only weakly glued together. The flavor was metallic and spicy — very spicy — with a faint flavor of energon underneath.

“Is good!” she found herself agreeing. “It’s a spicy cluster treat,” she told Ultra Magnus, unsure whether such things were to his taste. “I have every confidence in your choice of translators. I was pleased to learn we would have the services of two, instead of only one.”

Ultra Magnus took one of the treats, but didn’t eat it right away. “After the incident last vorn, I took the liberty of conducting a poll of all my citizens who are more than… nominally fluent,” a polite way of saying most of the mechs who bothered to learn more than a few words of Polyhexian still didn’t usually learn more than was necessary to barter, party, gamble, and curse in the islanders’ own language, “in the tongue, so that if a translator was needed again, there would be more than one option.”

“A wise decision,” Prowl agreed, and not just because it benefitted her. Having that resource available would be useful to Ultra Magnus as well when it came to arbitrating and dealing with the inevitable (though usually minor) conflicts that cropped up between their peoples during the trade season. Right now most conflicts that weren’t simply dismissed were resolved by throwing the offending Polyhexian in jail overnight and releasing him or her in the morning. “I look forward to meeting the mechs you’ve chosen.”

“And they you.” Ultra Magnus washed down the ika with a swallow of his energon. “I know Praxus has a copy of Hightower’s entire legal code on record, and that you can access it whenever you wish, Imperial Princess. However, would you like a reference copy of the sections of our laws that deal specifically with our vornly visitors for your own use? I can have a scribe make one before you leave.”

By which he probably meant that he’d already had a copy made, just in case, and was presenting the idea as though it had just occurred to him so as not to imply he _expected_ Prowl to have trouble with Jazz in the capital.

“That would be quite helpful, yes.” Jazz had diplomatic immunity, whatever trouble she might get into (and Prowl was beginning to suspect there would be more of that than she’d initially thought), but those laws would give Prowl an idea of some things they might need to address. Some; she doubted there were any laws against climbing everything in sight (unless it involved trespassing). Not all the disconnects between their cultures were significant enough to require legal codes to deal with them. “A personal reference copy would save me the trouble of travelling to the archives every time I need to look something up.”

“I will have it delivered as soon as the ink is dry,” the lord promised. “Meanwhile, is there anything further Hightower can provide for your visit, Imperial Princess?”

“Beyond the provisions for our return to Praxus, I can think of nothing you have not already addressed.” If only dealing with the politicians in the capital could be so easy. Working with Ultra Magnus was refreshingly pleasant, and Prowl very much appreciated his optic toward efficiency. “I find, as usual, that you are remarkably well prepared, Lord Ultra Magnus.”

“Thank you. My steward will show you to your rooms.” He waited for Prowl to disentangle herself from Jazz (again) and stand before doing so himself. “Please let him know what time you would like meals served so he can inform the kitchen staff. I will make sure you are informed as to when the court will be gathered for next cycle.”

He didn’t dismiss them. Prowl instead took her leave at her own pace, though she didn’t draw it out beyond grabbing one more of the ika lumps and offering her hand to Jazz. “Come on,” she said, unable to fully hide her anticipation. “Ritual stuff’s almost over.”

Jazz’s claws slid gently down Prowl’s arm, along the sensitive joint on her wrist, before slotting her fingers between Prowl’s. “Then we can say hello th’right way?”

“Yep.” Praxan protocol and etiquette might dictate any number of things, but in this Prowl was in full agreement with Jazz: there was really only one right way to greet a bondmate after a long absence.

The steward was waiting right outside Ultra Magnus’ office. He bowed deeply. “Your things have already been moved to your room, Imperial Princess. Please follow me.”

Jazz looked around curiously as they walked, once even letting go of Prowl to dart over to a statue to examine it (by climbing on it). She looked out windows, flipped over tapestries, crouched down to look at the floor covering, and picked up all manner of things, placing them back down on different pedestals than where she’d gotten them. The steward looked… resigned, and Prowl could almost see him making a mental note of everything Jazz displaced to be corrected later.

At least she wasn’t trying to take any of it.

Prowl thanked the mech and sent him away graciously once they reached the familiar suite. It looked almost exactly as it had when she’d stayed here last, except that her things were still packed rather than sprawled over the desk and tables.

A _zing!_ of charge raced up her spinal strut as she closed and locked the door. She had something else she wanted to sprawl out over the furniture.

“Now?” Jazz asked, already nibbling the edge of Prowl’s door.

 _“Now,”_ Prowl all but growled, spinning in Jazz’s arms so she could kiss her. The glowing blue light of the paint on her chest was washed out by the light of her spark as her armor began to part along the seam, the plates unwilling to stay latched even a nanoklik longer. “Missed ya so much,” Prowl gasped between kisses, taking advantage of her slightly taller stature to actually pick Jazz up and press their chests flush together. “Can feel ya callin’ me… ‘s like music. So beautiful!”

“Yessss,” Jazz moaned as her own chestplates parted. Prowl could feel the tendrils of light reaching for each other, twining around each other, pulling. Jazz clung to Prowl, her claws roaming briefly over Prowl’s plating, but she quickly gave up and just latched on. She sang out a note, clear and pure, that traversed the scale until it was so high Prowl could barely hear it and the sound shivered along her doors.

She arched against the door where Prowl had braced them, pushing them just that last bit closer…

Prowl locked her joints so they wouldn’t fall, then gave herself over to the merge. Her chest seam parted fully, leaving no barrier between them except the rapidly shrinking distance as their sparks reached for each other. Sight and sound were replaced by _love!_ and _joy!_ and _Jazz,_ and Prowl revelled in her.

 _Love you! Missed you!_ The purity of feeling swept Prowl along with it, carrying away all ability to put the experience into words before it carried her off completely.

She was still holding Jazz when conscious awareness started to creep back in. As usual, Jazz had recovered from the overload first, and Prowl could feel her hands tracing over her plating softly alongside the relaxed _bliss_ of their still-entwined sparks. Could hear her singing still.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“‘Lo, beautiful,” Jazz returned, tracing her claws over Prowl’s chevron reverently.

They were curled up together on the ground. She had ended up in Jazz’s embrace, chests still pressed lightly together, and Prowl could feel the tendrils of sparklight still grasping each other, reluctant to let go.

“‘M glad ya made it back safe.” She knew Jazz was an accomplished warrior, with many successful campaigns behind her, but still. “Y’didn’t get hurt?”

Jazz shrugged. “Got tagged by a fire-summoning a moon ago. Didn’t even feel it when it happened, an’ th priest-mage got m’fixed up real good. B’fore that sometime, I got blindsided by a water-jet summoning an’ knocked over th’side’a th’boat. Got stunned hittin’ th’water, but nothin’ broken. Stepper tagged m’with a spear; popped m’tire _again._ Newlin’ hit m’with a rock,” she actually sounded _proud_ of the newling in question, “an’ cracked m’optic band… Elements laughed _so hard_ he could barely focus well enough t’heal me.”

That was a pretty long list of injuries, but she’d obviously come through alright in the end. Prowl traced her fingers over Jazz’s now-intact optic band, unable to tell where the rock had struck. She hugged her closer anyway, just to assure herself that she was really there, healthy and whole. “Was it th’same tire? Maybe y’should be wearin’ yer armor again if it’s gonna keep attractin’ sharp things.”

“Was wearin’ m’armor,” Jazz drawled.

“Not very good armor then,” Prowl teased. It probably was good, even if it didn’t look like much — like most of Jazz’s equipment — but it was still amusing after the fact for Jazz to have a once-a-vorn tire-popping ratio.

“Oi! S’good armor!” Jazz was grinning. Their chests closed with a simultaneous _snick!_ as their sparks finally let go and retreated. By contrast, Jazz herself didn’t seem in any hurry to get up and move. “Stepper just got lucky.”

“You get ‘im back?” Prowl wasn’t in any hurry to move either.

“Carried off almost a kattumaram full’a chuno b’fore anyone even woke up.” Jazz was definitely smug about that. “An’ ‘is warriors were th’only ones guardin’ th’clan — the rest were off tryin’ t’raid Brighttooth Island. Rico’n I kept the pack’a pups busy while m’warriors carried off three more.”

“Sounds exciting.” Even if she didn’t have the faintest idea what chuno were. “Like ya did real well fer yerself.”

“Did! One’a th’new warriors who’d just come back with ‘is spirit insisted on joinin’ with us when ‘e saw that!” Jazz’s voice trilled excitedly. “Even after our absence th’previous three seasons, Rico’n me still have th’biggest war-band on Rainclouds Island!”

“I’m glad.” Part of that absence had been due to the depression Jazz had fallen into after their first, failed courtship, and Prowl really was glad it hadn’t set her back too badly. She didn’t know how the Polyhexian military structured itself, only that it allowed warriors to take long absences during the harvest season without penalty — maybe even entirely disbanded for those lunar cycles — so she didn’t know what sort of consequences Jazz had faced for her non-harvest season desertion. “That mean yer whole clan’s doin’ well?”

Prowl felt Jazz shrug. “Wasn’t there t’see it, but th’storms ended late in th’harvest season, so everyone’s a little shakier’n usual. Rainclouds ‘s doin’ pretty good though, didn’t lose too many.”

“Why’re late storms a problem?” Prowl knew that Polyhexians didn’t mine their energon, but she didn’t know much about what they did instead, beyond what hunting and gathering Jazz and Ricochet did along the coast. “They scare away th’fish?”

“That too.” Jazz chuckled. “Villagers can’t plant their crystals ‘til th’storms end, an’ can’t make chuno once they start up again.”

“What _are_ chuno?” They must be important, if carrying away boatloads of them was a thing to be proud of.

Jazz was silent for a long time; Prowl could almost hear her thinking, trying to translate the word. “Dirt-crystal food thing?” she eventually settled on, in the trade argot. She sat up, carefully pulling Prowl onto her lap so they were still wrapped around each other. With her hands, Jazz sketched out a lumpy round shape like no crystal Prowl knew of. “Villagers make ‘em t’eat,” she switched back to Polyhexian. “They can stay good fer about ten storm seasons if they’re kept dry.”

 _That_ was impressive! Even most refined highgrade didn’t stay good for that long, let alone regular energon. “That’s definitely somethin’ I wanna see,” Prowl said.

“Don’t have any with me, but ya’ll see plenty once we git t’th’islands. Prolly git sick’a eatin’ it.” Jazz grinned. She brought Prowl’s hand to her lips and started pressing kisses to her fingertips. “Later.” She kissed the sensitive spot on Prowl’s wrist…

“Rather nibble on somethin’ else right now, huh?” Prowl certainly wasn’t going to complain. “Y’were talkin’ ‘bout lickin’ off th’scent’a rain’n dust’n smoke…” She trailed off in a moan as Jazz rolled on top of her and teasingly licked her chevron.

“Hmm, yeah,” she purred around licks that made Prowl writhe and gasp. “Gotta put _my_ scent back on ya…” _Liiickk!_

“Izzat what that’s about?” Who would even be able to tell? No one, in Praxus, but if it was going to feel this good to let Jazz do it— “Ah!” Prowl tried to squirm away from a tickling lick, only to have Jazz pin her more firmly. _Yesss!_ “Well then y’better not miss a single spot!”

“Won’t,” Jazz breathed. “Promise.”

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Prowl’s frame and spark were both still tingling the next morning. She’d been barely conscious when Jazz had regretfully left her berth to go make sure the kattumaram hadn’t burned down or something while she’d been away, and slept so soundly that nothing disturbed her until well past sunrise. Even then she’d laid in the berth as long as she could justify doing so, listening to the familiar sound of Sundance’s snoring, before finally getting up.

Knowing she would most likely be up late and sleep late, Prowl had asked her breakfast be prepared late. Even if she and Jazz hadn’t had a long absence to make up for, it was her habit to stay up long into the night studying, and for once she had no obligations — no king or Iaconi intended to get up and have breakfast with — in the morning. When asked what her plans were, Jazz had shrugged and told her she’d be willing to share the food she had on the boat whenever Prowl got there (Prowl didn’t think she understood the concept of arranged, prepared, breakfasts).

A valet had been provided by Ultra Magnus, but Prowl insisted on washing herself so she could luxuriate in the bath. She did need the femme’s help with touch ups afterwards though; her finish had been neglected while travelling from Praxus and her activities last night had scraped some places raw, though at least she didn’t have any paint transfers.

Against the valet’s urgings, Prowl insisted on using the Polyhexian wax and polish Jazz had given her. While in Praxus, she had been pressured to wear the high gloss polishes common among nobles, but she’d found that she preferred the durability of the Polyhexian finish. It was meant to stand up to the sea and the normal activities of a even a warrior; that was why Jazz hadn’t left any transfers on her! And unlike the plainer, more durable, waxes available to most Praxan non-nobles, Polyhexian finish still looked  _ nice. _ Why didn’t Polyhexians sell more of their wax? There was certainly a market for it. Smokescreen had been able to sell her some, last trade season, but he’d confirmed it was a rare item that was snapped up by the local townsfolk for their own use pretty quickly. It made Prowl all the more grateful for the gift.

Once she was presentable, she sent the femme away and came down to the small, informal, dining room (the same one she and Arcee had used during their engagement). A pair of servants brought out a selection of additives for the waiting pitcher of energon and finished setting the table — for two.

“Dibs!” Sundance meowed loudly enough from her place on Prowl’s shoulder that both servants glanced up.

Not likely. Prowl could see the bowl meant for her familiar set out next to the place setting meant for the Princess.

“Yours is over there,” she chided the cat lightly, taking in the second place setting. “Is that meant for Jazz?” she asked the nearer servant.

“Yes, Imperial Princess.” Prowl recognized the kitchen mech from her previous two visits. He had brought Prowl and Arcee their breakfast every morning.

“But…” Surely they knew…? “Jazz is not here. She left last night to look after her vessel.” Where Prowl was to meet her, and have a brief visit with Ricochet and Smokescreen. Ricochet still intimidated her, but she wasn’t going to leave Hightower without seeing her friend.

The two servants exchanged a look. “Yes, Imperial Princess. I’ll have this cleared away immediately.”

Once they had taken the extra place setting away, Prowl was left to eat in peace. As was normal in Praxus for private meals, the fare was simply energon served with a selection of additives, accompanied by a small plate of simple sweet gel treats.

Sundance licked up the last drops of energon from her bowl and turned her attention to the treats.

“Don’t eat too many of those,” Prowl cautioned her. “Jazz will have food for us too.” Food that was less familiar, and therefore more interesting, than their regular fare.

“I NEVER eat too much!” the cybercat meowed around her first mouthful.

“Oh, really?” Prowl could remember more than one occasion where Sundance had indulged herself to the point of not wanting — or being able — to move for joors. Sundance, of course, had defended the consequences of such excesses as being nothing more than a cat’s natural need to take very long naps. “Alright then. But don’t complain to me if you’re too sleepy to chase things down on the docks.”

Toward the end of her meal, while she was finishing off her energon and debating if it was worth taking one more gel for herself (Sundance was already indulging in her after meal nap), a guard wearing the markings of a captain entered and bowed, waiting by the door to be acknowledged.

Curious, Prowl didn’t keep him waiting. “Yes, captain?”

He stepped closer so they weren’t shouting at each other and dropped to his knees contritely, folding his doors down as far as they went in a show of deference. “I’m afraid I have to apologize to you, Imperial Princess.”

“Whatever for?”

“We were unable to protect your intended last night. She,” he continued before Prowl could panic, thinking something had happened to Jazz, “left the castle without our noticing.”

Prowl stared for a moment, then had to stifle a laugh. Jazz hardly needed protecting, and she could only imagine how she would respond to the notion of the castle guard looking after her. “How is it that no one noticed?” she asked, still somewhat bemused that they had all thought Jazz had stayed the night. “She left my rooms openly before returning to the docks.” Something the guard ought to have known she would be doing, despite Prowl’s arrival.

“For, ah, privacy,” the guard said, “we were instructed to post a guard at the end of the hall, not right outside your rooms. That guard never saw her leave. We all thought…” his doors wilted. “Again, I deeply apologize, Imperial Princess. I take full responsibility.”

“See that you do better in the future,” Prowl said. No harm had come of the incident this time, but it  _ was _ a failing on their part. “Consider that Jazz has been known to scale walls rather than traverse hallways.” As she had done when she first kidnapped Prowl out of this very castle without a single guard noticing. She must have done so again last night, for there was no way to leave that particular wing without passing where the guard had been posted, other than by going out the windows — which, as she’d proved with the carriage, she had no compunction against using as doors. “I’m sure you can find a way to respect my privacy without compromising security.”

“Of course, Imperial Princess. I will see to it immediately!”

“Good. Now, who will be accompanying me down to the docks?” She would send them away once she was there, but it wasn’t worth the hassle (or the minimal risk) of trying to walk through the city alone.

“Unless you would prefer your own guards from Praxus, or wish someone specific, I will have an escort meet you at the gate, Imperial Princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be any of mine,” Prowl informed him. “My preference is for whoever can be ready the fastest.”

“Yes, Imperial Princess.”

The mech was still kneeling. “You are dismissed,” Prowl said, already turning to check on the state of her familiar. He rose, and with a final bow backed out of the room.

For her part, Sundance was konked out next to the plate of gels.

“I did warn you,” Prowl sighed, scooping up the sleeping cat. “Come on. Either you wake up and come with me, or you can find somewhere more comfortable,” and less in the way, though of course,  _ cat;  _ in the way was the best place to be, “to sleep.”

“Mmwake,” she meowed sleepily back.

With an affectionate ruffle of her ears, Prowl set off with the “awake” Sundance for the courtyard.

Six guards were waiting there for her when she arrived. They formed up around her without speaking. Prowl was just as glad they’d forgone anything to try to keep the rain off of her, since that would only slow them down. She could just imagine what Jazz’s reaction to seeing a litter, or other conveyance, would be, after her curiosity about the carriage. In any case it wasn’t raining yet — just threatening it.

The streets of Hightower looked very different with the last of the morning fog still clinging to the cobblestones. The lack of all the tents and stalls that usually crowded the wide streets during the trade season made the city look colder, in addition to the chill in the air. Still, the people they passed were friendly, pausing to smile and wave or offer greetings from beyond the ring of guards. Prowl returned them politely, but didn’t stop moving toward her destination.

_ “Wet…” _ her familiar whined.

“It’s not  _ that  _ wet.” Amazing how much she could complain about wet when they were on land, compared to how little she said about it when they were out on the kattumaram. “Someone’s getting spoiled.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sundance sniffed, burrowing into Prowl’s arms and trying to get away from the lingering weather so she could sleep. “Wet is the worst.”

“If you say so.” Personally, Prowl felt that the upcoming formal dinner was more likely to be “the worst”, or, at the very least, not as easy as she’d initially thought. The cat was lucky. As an extension of Prowl, she would be expected to be seen at least once in the company of her mage, but for the most part she would spend her time on the floor, making snide comments no one but Prowl could understand, scavenging for dropped treats, and looking for someone to dote on her for the rest of the evening. Prowl on the other hand… There wasn’t enough time to teach Jazz all the things Praxan society would expect of a Princess’ bondmate; not in the time it would take them to return to Praxus, and certainly not within a single day. They would have to hit on a few highlights, then hope Jazz being blatantly  _ not Praxan _ would be enough for the courtiers to give her eccentricities a pass.

Unlikely as that was, it was more likely to happen here than in the capital, anyway.

Speaking of Jazz being blatantly not Praxan…

Just before the docks came into view, Prowl heard Jazz’s voice screeching at  _ someone _ in Polyhexian too rapid-fire for her to follow. She slowed, straining to catch some idea of what was going on before walking in blind. Something about the kattumaram… A moment later Ricochet’s voice answered, just as loudly. Figured. Ricochet loved to cause a scene. Not that Jazz had any problems with drawing a crowd either, but Ricochet actively looked for ways to get people to glare at her.

“Leave me and return to the castle,” Prowl instructed the guards when they reached the ringing wharf. “I will be fine from here.”

They exchanged looks and one of them even looked like he was trying to figure out a way to protest… but Prowl’s order hadn’t left them any choice. Reluctantly, they formed up and marched back to the castle.

Looking at the two Polyhexians yelling at each other, it was easy to tell they were twins. Granted, Polyhexians varied in frametype less even than Praxans (which was the only one of the Galifarian Successor States with a single distinctive frametype associated with it), but Jazz and Ricochet were mirror copies of each other. Only their changeable surface details — paint color, specific design detailing, markings, the jewelry and other decorations they wore — and color of their visors were different. Usually they also acted quite differently, but right now they were screaming at each other with near-identical expressions.

If Ricochet was here… Prowl spotted Smokescreen by the glowing paint that marked him as bonded to a Polyhexian. He was leaning against a stack of crates waiting to be loaded, watching with amusement.  _ He _ didn’t mind a scene either, and didn’t even have not being Praxan as an excuse. Not for the first time, Prowl thought he and Ricochet deserved each other.

The noise had Sundance zipping out of Prowl’s arms for a place to block out their shouting as soon as she got too close. Prowl let her go, wincing at their volume as she made her way over to Smokescreen. “What are they arguing about?” she asked him, speaking louder than usual herself to make sure she was heard. “Or are they just arguing to argue at this point?”

Smokescreen greeted her with a crooked grin. He was one of the few people who didn’t wait for explicit permission from her to be less formal, and if he rarely used her name, he also never used her full, formal title. “Hello Princess! Apparently there’s a bunch of Jazz’s things that shouldn’t be left onboard if she’s not using the boat as her residence, but can’t carry with her on an overland hike or  _ drive.” _ Prowl wasn’t surprised he was following the specifics of the quarrel much better than she could; she had learned Polyhexian first from books and had only progressed to being conversationally fluent since last vorn, where Smokescreen had learned Polyhexian early in his life and practiced every trade season. “So she wants Rico to look after it. Ricochet refused, and it devolved from there. I’d tell them that she can just leave her stuff at my place until she gets back, but there seems to be some sort of point of honor involved. So I’m waiting for the argument to wind down first.”

“I ran into something similar last cycle when I asked Jazz to stay with me. She wanted to be fair about doing her part to look after the catamaran as long as possible since we’re going to be away so long.” Admirable, but apparently not appreciated by her twin when it came to where she was keeping her stuff. “I hope you’ve been well.”

“Things are good. Thanks, Princess,” Smokescreen’s smile was much less roguish this time. “And it makes sense, if you think about it. That,” he gestured to the catamaran, encompassing the boat and all the things piled neatly on it, “is their entire life. Everything they own, everything they need to do… anything, really. It’s all right there, and Jazz is going to be leaving it behind for the first time since, when?” He shrugged; not knowing the answer to his own question. Prowl didn’t know either, but it was conceivable they’d  _ never  _ left it behind — not willingly, anyway. The storms Jazz had told stories about didn’t always leave a sailor much of a choice.

“I wonder if anyone in Praxus will recognize what a concession she’s making just by coming to the capital,” Prowl mused, having not really thought about it that way herself until now. She didn’t think they would. “She’s been so willing to do ‘all the things’, as she puts it, but it’s going to be so strange to her.”

Not that living among the islanders for a vorn —  _ three seasons _ — wasn’t going to be strange to Prowl, but she at least wanted to be away from Praxus and its politics for a while. Already, Polyhex seemed so much  _ simpler _ than everything on the mainland.

“So… how have you been, Princess?” Smokescreen drawled as they watched. “How’s your research going?”

“Not as well as I’d like,” Prowl admitted. Some of the more recent ruins, abandoned forts or ruined towns, from the wars that had resulted from the original break up of Galifar, were easy to find. There were records of them, and figuring out how they’d been founded, grown, and evolved did add to their knowledge of their own past, but they weren’t really what Prowl was most interested in. She wanted to know about  _ before _ Galifar. What had Praxus been like then? And how had Galifar come to dominate the mainland for centuries untold before falling? Polyhexian stories had some tantalizing clues, but Prowl wanted to find evidence to support or refute them on Praxus’ own soil. “At least I’ve managed to capture the imagination of some scholars and secure some funds, so the research will continue in my absence.”

“Good.”

“And you? How’s your business?”

“Slow,” Smokescreen said with a grin. An understatement. As a merchant who specialized in trading with Polyhexians, then reselling those goods to others who would resell them elsewhere, his business was non existent during the off seasons. “I’ve got some fun stuff planned for Ricochet and I for the rest of the vorn.”

“Oh?”

Prowl watched their mates argue while Smokescreen described the “fun” things he had planned. It basically amounted to drinking, gambling, partying, and a lot of interfacing, but his parties sounded like a lot more fun than the one she herself was facing this evening.

The screeching didn’t seem to be abating, but some sort of resolution must be in the offing between the twins because they were dividing up the piles of cargo and supplies, with Jazz’s pile of things accumulating on the deck of the catamaran and Ricochet’s on the dock.

As they progressed from sorting to tussling, Smokescreen cocked his head and laughed before putting one hand to his mouth and making a shrill sound that stopped both twins and made them look up at them. “No dumpin’ each other in th’water again,” he called. “S’already wet enough, an’ Prowl an’ I ain’t gonna cuddle with a pair’a sopping wet, harbor-stink mates!”

“Prowl!” Jazz didn’t seem to have heard anything else he’d said. Argument forgotten, she bounded from the boat to the dock and over to them, sweeping the princess up in a twirl. Prowl let her, giggling happily.

“Mornin’,” she said when Jazz set her back down, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Lo, beautiful.” Jazz purred back. Behind her, Ricochet made a noise like one of her tires backfiring, and Jazz made a complicated gesture with one hand at her without looking, most of her attention on Prowl. “I brought y’presents.” She kissed her mate’s chevron gently.

“Y’did?” Prowl tried, and failed, to keep the excitement out of her voice. “What’d ya bring?” She tore her gaze away from Jazz long enough to wave at her twin. “Hi Ricochet.”

Ricochet gave her a skeptical look from where she was leaning against the crates by Smokescreen. He had an arm around her waist and she had a possessive hand on one of his doors. He didn’t seem bothered by his mate’s relative aloofness, and whispered something to her Prowl couldn’t hear.

“Ke,” she snorted back to him. “Hullo,” she answered Prowl, not-quite-glowering.

“Ignore her,” Jazz purred to Prowl. “She’s jus’ bein’ a sulky water-cat ‘cause I’m right an’ she’s wrong.”

“Ain’t,” Ricochet huffed back, but let herself be distracted by Smokescreen drawing her attention with a caress to the glowing mark on her chest. Her engine revved.

“Come on,” Jazz answered Prowl’s question. “I’ll show ya.” She took Prowl’s hand in hers and led her out onto the kattumaram.

It had been a while, but Prowl’s balance was still good as she stepped onto the gently rocking boat. Amazing to think there had been a time she’d been terrified to even crawl on the kattumaram, let alone climb over the hull and up onto the deck. It felt so natural now.

Behind her, Prowl could hear more excited engine sounds from both Ricochet and Smokescreen. She shook her head silently, hoping they would at least move somewhere a little less open before engaging in full-on angry-sex (Rico’s favorite kind).

The presents were in a sack with the rest of Jazz’s stuff. Looking at it, Prowl wondered how Jazz expected to be able to carry it all but then shrugged the thought away. Jazz, and her stuff, would be on the carriage.

Jazz pulled open the sack and reached in. Prowl suddenly found herself holding… a kelapa!

“Oh!” Prowl smiled widely, gently shaking it to feel the sweet liquid sloshing inside. She remembered how good it tasted. “Thank you!”

“I brought eight!” Jazz crowed;  _ she _ knew how much Prowl loved the large, geode-like seed crystals. Jazz had said they kept a while on a boat, but no matter how much Prowl had looked or sent others to look for them since Jazz had introduced her to the liquid that could be extracted from a fresh one, all she’d found were the hard, balled-up crystal treats made from the tiny crystals inside the shell.

“Eight?!” Prowl did  _ not  _ squeal. “How’d ya get so many?”

“T’was  _ very _ difficult,” Jazz purred huskily. She came around behind Prowl and wrapped her arms around her. Seductively, she dipped her claws into the big gaps around Prowl’s hip armor, tracing the insulated wires beneath.

“Jazz!” Prowl shifted the kelapa to one hand so she could bat at Jazz with the other. “Howzat got anything t’do with how ya got the kelapa?”

“I don’t git a reward fer bein’ so brave an’ bringin’ back yer favorite treat?” Jazz let Prowl chase her away, but hung her head mock-sadly.

“Not till ya tell me ‘bout how brave y’were,” Prowl said teasingly. The fact that Jazz hadn’t immediately launched into a tale was a pretty good sign it hadn’t really been that difficult, but she’d said it was. Now Prowl wanted a story!

Jazz laughed. “All the telepak tangan near th’village had already released their seeds, t’float away or be eaten by others,” she lowered her voice to a hush. “Had t’brave th’deep jungles of m’home island. Wild places, where no mech had stepped since th’time’a Seadreamer’n Silvercloud. Dark tangles’a crystals growin’ on th’edges’a swamps infested by piran’ya.” Jazz danced a step closer to Prowl, making an illustrative gesture with her hands like a pair of toothy jaws snapping gently at the other femme’s arm. Even though Prowl didn’t know what a  _ piran’ya _ was, she understood that it was a dangerous, hungry mechanimal of some sort. “Found  _ one _ with th’kelapa still buddin’, but it was in th’middle’a th’water, guarded by th’biggest koka I’ve ever seen!”

That was a creature Prowl did recognize from Jazz’s other stories, and had seen stylized drawings of. “How big?” she asked, trying to picture the (quite probably fictitious) scene. “Big as a sharkticon?”

“Easily,” Jazz said, breathlessly. She used her grip to pull Prowl back into her embrace. “It must’a been th’ _ first _ koka!”

“Then y’shouldn’ta gone after th’kelapa!” Prowl gasped, playing along with the drama. “‘S far too dangerous fer such a little thing.”

Happily, Jazz stroked Prowl’s doors. “Wasn’t gonna come back t’ya empty-handed.”

“So ya decided t’brave th’first koka ‘imself, just t’bring me my favorite treat?”

“Oh fer th’love’a—!” Prowl turned at the sudden interruption; unsurprisingly, Ricochet and Smokescreen hadn’t gone anywhere at all, and despite being tangled with each other, the other Polyhexian warrior was taking the time to comment on Jazz’s story. “She’s  _ lyin’  _ through ‘er  _ teeth  _ an’ y’know it!”

“Ain’t a lie!” Jazz retorted. “S’a  _ spell!” _

“Is,” Prowl agreed, nuzzling Jazz fondly.  _ Spell _ and  _ story _ were synonyms in Polyhexian, and most of the stories Prowl had heard had been meant to affect the listener or reader in some way. Thus, spells. “‘S’a spell’a love.” Because if there really  _ had  _ been a koka standing between her and the kelapa, Prowl didn’t think that would’ve stopped Jazz. The details of the story weren’t important — the intent and emotion were.

Jazz nuzzled her back, cooing.

Ricochet made another derisive noise, but Prowl wasn’t listening to her anymore. “How’d ya get past ‘im?” she asked Jazz, eager to hear the rest. “‘E can’t’ve handed ‘em over so easy!”

“Didn’t,” Jazz assured, still stroking Prowl’s doors. “I had t’wait ‘til ‘e was rechargin’, waitin’ on th’bank, then swim across th’swamp. I had t’be quiet’n quick. Didn’t know how long Koka’d sleep fer, or when somethin’d wake ‘im. If ‘e spotted me, I was gonna be one very dead water cat!”

“Don’t want ya t’be a dead water cat,” Prowl insisted, clinging to Jazz. “Ever.”

“Well, it sure wasn’t my plan! But then right when I was almost across, a  _ rusa _ jumped over th’hedge’a crystals ‘round th’water and stumbled right in with a splash!” The quiet  _ slap-slapping  _ of the harbor against the hull of the kattumaram seemed louder as Prowl imagined the unfortunate sound drawing the koka’s attention. “With a great snap’a ‘is jaws — Snap! — Koka lunged at th’rusa and snapped it right in half with ‘is great teeth. I ducked down int’th’water, hopin’ ‘e didn’t see me, but ‘e left th’two pieces’a th’rusa an’ started swimming right toward me.”

“What’d ya do?”

“What else? I swam as fast as I could!”

Prowl laughed. Jazz nuzzled her again until she stopped before continuing.

“Now I can out-swim most koka, but not th’first! Luckily I was closer t’th’telepak tangan than Koka was t’me an’ I pulled m’self outta th’water’n up t’th’top right as those jaws snapped closed. I felt ‘is teeth graze m’feet as I climbed, ‘e was so close!”

Prowl looked down at Jazz’s feet as if searching for signs of the koka’s teeth. “Good thing ‘e missed!”

“Sure was. ‘E circled m’as I inched higher. ‘Cause I wasn’t leavin’ without those seed crystals! An’ weren’t they the biggest, most beautiful kelapa I’d ever seen too!”

“But th’koka had ya cornered — how’d ya escape with ‘em without gettin’ chomped?”

“Well, ‘e wasn’t gonna just stay’n circle me ferever with two pieces’a dead rusa bleedin’ on th’bank,” Jazz chuckled. “When ‘e swam away t’eat, I made a break fer th’shore!”

“Carryin’ eight kelapa?”

“Of course!” Jazz looked insulted by the insinuation she couldn’t. “I am fast’n strong and the best mate ever! I can carry eight kelapa!”

“Are th’best mate,” Prowl agreed, though she couldn’t quite picture Jazz doing such a thing. Kelapa were large enough that trying to maneuver with several of them, particularly through water while being chased, seemed impossible to Prowl. Then again, Jazz was capable of plenty of things in the water Prowl didn’t think should be possible. “Riskin’ life’n limb t’bring me so many treats.”

“Did,” Jazz’s voice lowered huskily. “I was very brave.” Her hands continued stroking Prowl’s doors, but… slower. Warmer. Prowl could feel the electricity in the gesture.

“Should reward ya fer bein’ so brave,” Prowl purred, only not fully relaxing into the touches because, “Need t’move somewhere less open.”

Sinuously, Jazz slid around Prowl, setting every nerve-wire singing, and stepped down into the sleeping pad of the kattumaram. She tugged on Prowl’s hand with an inviting smile.

“Ain’t what I meant by less open,” Prowl said, setting the kelapa back in the bag and following anyway. “Under th’blanket?”

“Sure.” Jazz guided Prowl to lay down and crawled on top of her, kissing plating and seams as she went. Knowing there was only one way for the two of them to fit in the kattumaram’s hull at the same time, Prowl opened her legs to wrap around Jazz’s waist, pulling them even closer together. She still wasn’t sure how Jazz managed to fit their chassis together in so narrow a space and twist to pull the blanket over them at the same time, but she always seemed to do it easily. She nuzzled Prowl’s neck cables once they were under cover. “S’good?”

“S’good,” Prowl whispered, though she was feeling a bit anxious. Was she really doing this? Was she really about to do this? Being under the blanket didn’t change that they were out in public, about to  _ frag  _ in public! But she didn’t want to stop… “‘M not a very good princess,” she muttered against Jazz’s plating.

“Yer m’mate,” Jazz whispered back, nibbling the cables she’d been nuzzling. Her hands roamed the Praxan’s plating, but the tight quarters limited what she could reach… just the edges of her doors, her shoulders and tires… her chevron. Prowl fought not to moan. Too loudly at least.  _ “My _ mate. M’ _ perfect _ mate…” Jazz’s words came in breathy gasps that matched the stuttering roar of her fans, so very loud in the tiny space. “Yer so beautiful…”

“Not ‘s beautiful ‘s ya.” The blanket made things a bit dark, but Jazz was still gorgeous in her arms — and the glowing blue of the paint marking her frame made the perfect map for Prowl to trace, up over her shoulders to the glowing dots on her helm. Jazz moaned, and didn’t have Prowl’s impulse to keep quiet. “Love these, love every part’a ya,” she said, barely audible over her own straining engine. “Love  _ you.” _

“Love ya. Missed ya,” Jazz panted. She moaned again, pressing her sensor horns into Prowl’s hands. “Yesss… Yer so good at that…” Prowl heard the faint click of her lover’s chest plates sliding open.

She felt the  _ call _ of Jazz’s spark.

With a whine that was partly her engine and partly a strangled back cry, Prowl let her chest plates open too. Their armor ground against each other slightly, then was far enough out of the way for them to fit just that much closer together. “Jazzzzz,” Prowl moaned, fingers clenching fitfully around her lover’s helm. “Need you!”

“Yer perfect,” Jazz whispered again, voice almost lost in the sounds of their frames. “I’m so glad I found ya.”

Then their sparks reached out to each other and  _ pulled _ and Prowl wasn’t hearing Jazz with her audios anymore.

_ Admiration. Want. _ Oh, Primus, Jazz  _ wanted _ her so much…  _ Love. Lovelovelovelove. _

Prowl couldn’t tell if she managed to keep herself quiet, or if she shouted her feelings out loud along with the pulsing of her spark. _ Love! _ she sent back,  _ lovelovelove _ laced with  _ awe  _ and  _ gratitude  _ for accepting her as she was, not as she was supposed to be.

_ Yes! _

Prowl woke up to Jazz’s singing, as she usually did. They were still tucked under the blanket in the false privacy of the kattumaram.

“Jazz…?” Prowl trailed one hand around so she could brush her face, the movement slow and tender as she settled fully back into her frame. “Love you.”

“I looked fer ya m’whole life,” Jazz sang back, softly. She smiled and mirrored Prowl’s gesture, caressing her cheek. “And yer everything I could’ve wanted, everything I dreamed y’would be.”

“‘M so glad y’found me.” Prowl had never expected to have a choice in who she bonded to. She’d thought a tolerable match was the best she could hope for. She’d feared that the parts of herself she’d kept hidden would disappoint or anger the bondmate chosen for her when they found them in her spark. “I never thought I’d be so happy, so lucky t’have someone like you.” Someone strong and confident, clever and beautiful. “Yer perfect.”

Jazz just snuggled into Prowl. As usual, she didn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere. Something Prowl was still getting used to, but no longer minded.

“It could have been worse,” Sundance suddenly meowed loudly from outside their warm, dark cocoon. “Your Praxan guards could have been assigned to watch you today.”

“Oh no. None of the guards came back, did they?” Not that she’d sent them away because she’d been planning on interfacing, but the why shouldn’t matter. The point was she’d ordered them to leave. Here in Hightower, where there weren’t authorities over her, that should have been enough. “Did someone see?”

“Only everyone at the docks,” the cat purred smugly.

“Oh no.” Prowl buried her face against Jazz’s neck. “That’s it. I can’t ever come out from under this blanket again.”

“Hmm?” Jazz murmured, interrupting her song. “Why’s that? An’ yer gonna have’ta come out.”

“Nope. Can’t ever show m’face again.”

“Gotta.” Jazz poked her. “Haven’t finished givin’ ya yer gifts.”

“But people  _ saw  _ us,” Prowl groaned, knowing that of course she wasn’t going to be able to hide forever. “Ain’t supposed t’let people see ya ‘facing in Praxus.”

“Huh? S’silly,” Jazz nibbled Prowl’s chest. Then she flipped up the blanket to climb out of the hull herself. “Lo, Sundance.” She must have offered her hand, because Prowl could hear the traitorous spirit guide purring her little head off. Prowl pulled the blanket back over herself, hiding.

It didn’t work very well.

Shamelessly, Jazz flipped the blanket back away from Prowl’s face again. “Here.” She held out what looked like a very large bracelet made from the reddish plates of armor from some mechanimal. Etchings adorned each plate, pictures and the strange Polyhexian runic writing, and a pair of long, red feathers hung from a single hole in the piece.

Prowl studiously focused on it, rather than looking around to see who might be staring at them. “What’s this do?” she asked, trying to puzzle out if and how it was meant to be worn.

“Which is yer off-hand?” Jazz asked instead of answering right away.

“This one,” Prowl said, holding up her left. Jazz carefully slid the bracelet as far up as it would go, until it sat just below her shoulder with the feathers hanging down over her arm. They were  _ long _ — longer than she’d realized, and the tips of the red plastic flight pinions brushed her wrist when she pulled the feather flush to measure. Her doors waggled and she giggled as the feathers moved, tickling her.

“There.” Jazz beamed. “Now yer a priest-mage’a th’tribe. Didn’t have one b’fore, ‘cuz I didn’t realize ya wouldn’t be a warrior when I found ya.”

“Ooh, really? All’a th’priest-mages have these then?” It was very pretty, in Prowl’s opinion. “Do they all look th’same?”

“S’th’feathers.” Jazz stroked down the length of one of them. “Can wear ‘em however y’want, really, but warriors ain’t supposed t’have ‘em. I got’cha somethin’ that would match th’other stuff y’got, cuz yer a powerful priest-mage, an’ m’mate.”

It would go well with the other things Jazz had given her. Matching colors was important to Polyhexians, Prowl remembered, and Jazz had been very proud that the majority of her gifts had all been red. Prowl stroked the feathers too, wishing she had all of her island finery to wear with it right now. “‘S pretty.”

Jazz preened.

“Yer gonna spoil me,” Prowl said, smiling up at her mate. “So, anyone wearin’ feathers is a priest-mage, huh? What do warriors get?”

“Armor’n weapons,” Jazz showed her teeth and chuckled. “An’ just those feathers, th’long ones.”

“What’re they from?” Koekoea didn’t get this big! “I’ve never seen feathers so long.”

_ “Ketzal,” _ Jazz named the bird. She tried for a moment to think of a translation into the trade argot, then shrugged, giving up. “They’ve got a floofy crest on their heads an’ two looooong,” she stroked the length of the feather again, “feathers on their tails, trailin’ after ‘em. Ketzal was th’first spirit t’teach us magic.”

That would explain why mages wore the feathers then. Prowl wanted to ask for the story of how Ketzal had taught them magic, but… she glanced at the pile of stuff. She wanted to know what else Jazz had brought her, too! Jazz saw her gaze wandering and grinned. Making an excited sound, she went back to the pile and pushed three large bundles toward Prowl next. “These too! Since y’didn’t have yer own.”

“Didn’t have m’own what?” Prowl reached for the first bundle, pawing at it curiously while Sundance leapt onto one of the others to examine it with an almost identical gesture.

Jazz listed off a series of words that were mostly incomprehensible to Prowl. Some she could parse how the parts were put together — like “bird-nest” and “rain-blanket” — but couldn’t attach those words to an image of an object, but others were just meaningless sounds. Prowl waited, tilting her head curiously, for Jazz to translate some of them into the trade argot… “Cave-stuff,” she finally settled on, a collective term that didn’t really help Prowl all that much.

She opened the bundle, untying the ropes that held it together. A sleeping pad, a pillow, another of the tapestry-like blankets (depicting a huge crystal being climbed by several mechs), and a much larger, heavier, plain (“plain” in this case meaning “no distinguishable pattern”, not “uncolorful”) blanket almost flung themselves out of the tight roll. Oops. Maybe she should have waited to get everything back to the castle before unpacking it.

“So this’s fer… what? When we’re with yer tribe?” Prowl guessed, leaving the other large bundles unopened. If that was the case, it might be more expedient to have Smokescreen or Ultra Magnus store everything so they could put it back on the kattumaram that much easier when the time came. That thought reminded her of the other logistics they needed to start sorting out, and she sighed regretfully. “They’re beautiful, an I’d love t’spend th’whole day lookin’ at it all and,” she stroked fabric cover of the pillow, her doorwings folding back slightly with embarrassment, “bein’ with ya, but they’re expectin’ us up at th’castle soon’n yer not ready.”

Jazz moved to help re-bundle everything. Which was good; Prowl wasn’t sure she could get everything packed as tightly as Jazz had had it. “M’polish s’still good,” Jazz asserted. It was. She still didn’t have a scratch on her, though it looked like she had picked up some rust and dirt on her tires, and in her wheel wells and feet.

“Didn’t mean how ya looked,” Prowl said, since conforming to Praxan fashion wasn’t something she was going to ask of Jazz. “Unless yer plannin’ on puttin’ yer sarong back on, yer fine.” She’d probably taken them off to make clambering around the boat easier. “I meant y’need t’know some’a what y’can’n can’t do in,” again, there was no way to say it in Polyhexian,  _ “public,  _ especially at  _ court.” _

Jazz was already digging out her sarong, hikurere and other accoutrements… including her battle armor and weapons! The gladius she had taken from Arcee had a new sheath, made of bronze, which she slung over her back with her harpoons. She made an interested noise. “Sure. I told ya: I’m gonna do all the things.”

“I know y’will.” All the things Prowl thought to tell her about, anyway, and assuming Jazz remembered them. Not that Jazz was stupid at all; she really wasn’t. But a lot of Praxan customs would be alien and nonsensical to her, which would make them harder to adhere to despite the best of intentions. “First big thing: no erotic touching where people can see.”

Jazz tied the first pieces of armor on her legs. Unpainted, they were obviously the plating of some tough-skinned mechanimal. Interlocking, segmented plates covered her tires and the most vulnerable part of her ankles, then thinner pieces covered the straps that tied them on, securing them against being cut free by an enemy. To Prowl, the extra armor pieces looked simultaneously like they weren’t enough and too much. Of course Jazz already had armor on her legs, on her whole frame in fact, but these provided extra protection to vulnerable areas -- like her tires. 

Jazz tilted her head as she tied the last strap and secured the strip of armor protecting the knot over it. “No mate-touching?” she repeated as she started the second leg. “That mean we’re not supposed t’touch at all?”

“Ain’t supposed t’touch much. Holdin’ hands, takin’ arms, like this,” Prowl got up and folded her arm in Jazz’s as though to escort her off the boat — something that would actually only be made harder if she attempted to really do it — to demonstrate. “‘S’okay t’do this sometimes, ‘specially if yer movin’ from one place to another. Otherwise, just stand close.”

Prowl saw Jazz make a face at how awkward the position was, but she nodded. “Got’cha.” As soon as Prowl let her go, she finished securing the second armor piece to her leg and moved onto the next, a thick belt made from the same segmented pieces of mechanimal plating that covered the gaps in her normal abdominal armor. These, Prowl could see, had a faint pattern of hexagonal rings etched on them.

It could have been morbid to look at the armor and realize that Jazz was wearing pieces of corpses, but Prowl didn’t think so. And these pieces — all of Jazz’s extra armor — had been polished to a high gloss that must be recent. She couldn’t imagine Jazz could maintain that shine when using them in combat.

“Second big thing: no runnin’ off by yerself without sayin’ where yer goin’.” That one Prowl was less worried about, since Jazz would almost certainly want to stay near her even if something caught her interest, but it was worth saying. It also had the advantage of covering for a whole host of situations in which it might not be appropriate for her to run off: as long as she paused long enough to tell Prowl she was leaving, Prowl would have a chance to stop her if necessary.

Plus, there was the issue of Jazz’s extra armor still being  _ armor,  _ and her weapons, weapons. Prowl knew she was wearing them as a mark of her status and her role (and would defend them as such if anyone complained or questioned their presence), but walking around the castle visibly prepared for battle could be construed as a threat or intimidation tactic. Not a good idea for her to wander around unescorted, with no way to explain herself.

“Tell ya where I’m goin’. Can do that.” Jazz did a couple of twists to settle the armored belt, then divested herself of her sword and harpoons long enough to pull on a set of pauldrons that covered her shoulder tires. These were a single piece that  _ snicked _ down so snugly it had to have been made to custom fit over and around her natural, thick shoulder armor. The whole thing wrapped around her back, and was secured by a strap that ran under her plating and tied to a different part of the pauldrons. Despite being a single piece, it was also the most complicated, with four different places where it tied down to Jazz’s natural armor.

It was enough to make Prowl wish she knew more about Praxan armor so she could compare them better. As it was, all she could say was that the extra armor Praxan shock troops wore was heavier than Jazz’s, which was obviously designed to maintain her flexibility in lieu of providing full coverage.

“Third thing,” she said, reminded by the presence of all that armor and the twinkling stone in the hilt of what used to be Arcee’s sword, “no startin’ fights or stealin’ things.”

“Got no reason t’steal things,” Jazz pointed out. “It’s th’wrong season.” The last two pieces went around her forearms, which confused Prowl for a moment — those were already thickly armored pieces of her frame — until she realized that they both had a single, solid plate of thick armor that flared out over the back of her arm. Jazz had tried her best to polish these pieces up, but several of the gashes were just too deep for scratch remover and polish to hide. Seeing those gashes, Prowl could imagine Jazz bringing her arm up to block a strike aimed for her optic band or other vital parts. Not shields, but they served almost the same function. “But if I ain’t supposed t’fight, how do I defend against insults? Don’t want yer people thinkin’ I’m weak! Y’deserve a strong mate!”

“Wasn’t sure if stealin’ was allowed outside th’harvest season where fightin’ ain’t.” Knowing Jazz wasn’t intending to do so was one worry off her processor. “As fer defendin’ against insults…” Prowl didn’t have a good answer for that. The appropriate response to an insult in most cases was either a clever verbal repartee — something Jazz wouldn’t be able to manage easily because of the language barrier — or nothing. Until their fortunes changed, the only way to deal with Mirage’s insults, for instance, was to act in a way that made his words look foolish in hindsight. Somehow Prowl doubted Jazz would be very keen on such an indirect approach. “…it kinda depends what they said or did.”

Jazz shook herself to settle all the armor pieces, tightened a few, then pulled the sword and bundle of harpoons back on. For the first time, Prowl saw Jazz as her victims must. She looked, with the armor and the weapons, the claws and the fierce lines of ritual paint, borderline terrifying. Right now she was smiling happily, but Prowl could imagine her fangs bared into the fierce snarl she wore when she summoned the fishing cat spirit to help her fight… she suppressed a shiver. No wonder Polyhexians had a reputation for fierceness.

It was almost a relief when Jazz started pulling on the rest of her finery over the armor. Her various knives didn’t help the image of a fierce warrior, arranged along her thigh, but the two sarong and the hikurere softened the harsh angles of the armor, and the jewelry jangled cheerily.

“Kay…” Jazz drawled questioningly. “So tell m’what I’m supposed t’do.”

“Mostly yer supposed t’poke holes in what they said if y’can, an’ if y’can’t yer supposed t’ignore ‘em.”

Jazz frowned thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t let people think y’picked a weak mate,” she insisted.

“A bad response looks weaker’n no response,” Prowl said, grasping for a way to explain something she knew on an almost instinctual level from having lived with it all her life, but had never tried to codify. “If they see ya gettin’ upset, they think they’ve won.”

“Won’t git upset then,” Jazz promised.

“They better not insult ya anyway,” Prowl said, more confidently than she felt but with no less conviction. “I got th’best mate in th’world’n they’d be stupid not ta see it.”

“Of course!” Jazz agreed.

Humility didn’t appear to be a virtue Jazz subscribed to. It was as refreshing as it was frustrating, and Prowl couldn’t help but smile. “Also,” she said more lightly, “don’t climb all the things.”

Jazz snorted. “Climbin’s important.”

“She’s right,” Sundance announced importantly from where she’d, of course, climbed to watch them and the rest of the goings on in the harbor. “Climbing is important.”

“I’d still thank you  _ both  _ to keep off the drapes,” Prowl shot back at her familiar before telling Jazz, “At least don’t climb any cloth-things. Please.”

“Kay!” She rocked excitedly on her heels. “What sorta thing’re we goin’ to tonight? Y’want help gittin’ yer stuff on?” She stepped forward and touched Prowl’s chest lightly. “Or paint?” She tilted her head curiously, mood sliding more towards confused. “Yer not wearin’ a lot…”

“Can’t wear all’a it,” Prowl said regretfully. Much as she’d like to, there was only so much she could get away with at court. “Brought some though. ‘S back at th’castle.” She reached back for Jazz, touching the dots on the ends of her helm protrusions. “I’ve missed th’paint.”

“I’ve missed paintin’ ya,” Jazz leaned into the touch. “Being painted by ya… Ain’t th’same, puttin’ th’marks on m’self.”

“Isn’t,” Prowl agreed. “Let’s get this squared away’n then y’can help me get ready. ‘S gonna be a  _ formal dinner  _ tonight — a fancy meal with lotsa people’n lotsa food-things. Lotta talkin’, too. Ultra Magnus found two people t’help with translatin’ an’ we’re meetin’ ‘em tonight.”

“I should bring food then!” Jazz dove back into the pile.

“Y’don’t have’ta. There’ll be plenty.” More than plenty, even after the servants had their share of the leftovers. The leftover leftovers got distributed among the poorest of the city.

“I’m a great hunter! I can’t show up empty-handed!”

Was that why she had laid the ika on Ultra Magnus’ desk? Prowl had assumed that had had to do with an exchange of some sort, of not wanting to be indebted to the lord for feeding them. “Kay.” There was no reason she couldn’t, and it was obviously important to her. “We’ll make sure th’ _ kitchen  _ knows what t’do with it.”

Prowl recognized when she pulled out a bag of mixed ika and kelapa balls. Then a box of packets wrapped in the rubber weeds that grew in the water. She weighed those, then looked speculatively at the ropes hanging over the side of the boat, which Prowl knew led down to the traps and storage crates for live nijan. “How many people’s ‘lotsa people’?”

“Here?” Prowl wasn’t as familiar with the Hightower court as she was with the one in Praxus; there was Ultra Magnus, his heir, the lord presiding over the local mine and  _ her  _ heir, a small number of local nobles and a handful of merchants too powerful to snub, all with varying sized entourages, plus important officers in the military… on the face of it that was a lot of people, but this was the off season. Not everyone who could be, would be in attendance, particularly those nobles who would be putting their efforts into making it to the actual wedding. “Mebbe twenty or so? But there’s gonna be plenty t’eat. Th’ika’n kelapa’re enough, ‘specially since t’Praxans they’re so unique.” It might be a point of pride for Jazz to provide something, but there was no point in her impoverishing herself over the affair.

“Y’sure?” Jazz considered the bag of mixed hard fuel. “Don’t want anyone thinkin’ I ain’t a great hunter, or that I’m stingy. I brought a bowl’a ka meli, but I wanna save that fer th’big party in th’mainland…”

‘M sure. Save th’rest fer later; everyone here’ll be impressed y’brought one’a my favorites fer them t’try.” Prowl doubted many of the mechs and femmes at court would have bothered to try a kelapa ball before, even in the unlikely event they ever stumbled across one. As something she personally enjoyed, however, they would have value and interest at least for an evening as a novelty.

“Kay.”

Together they repacked everything and got all of Jazz’s things squirrelled away. Jazz was as presentable as she was going to get (and Prowl wasn’t going to make her change that; she was wearing every bit of fancy dress she had and she looked  _ gorgeous _ as far as Prowl was concerned), but Prowl still needed to get ready.

“Y’good t’come back’n help me get pretty now?” Prowl asked Jazz while holding a hand out to Sundance. “And what about you? Are you walking back?” she meowed to the cat.

Sundance looked up from the hole she was investigating, then trotted over to Prowl. “You may carry me,” she sniffed, using her paw to clean her whiskers.

“I’ll help,” Jazz said at the same time. “Wanna put more paint on ya.”

“Not  _ all  _ the paint,” Prowl said, picking up Sundance mid-lick and getting a short hiss for her trouble as she settled her on her shoulder. “Not till we set sail again. But I definitely wanna have more’n just th’one mark.”

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

With Jazz’s assistance, Prowl wound up with broad blue stripes on her doorwings to match the one on her chest. She didn’t let Jazz put any of the paint on her face; while she didn’t personally have a problem with it, she felt it would be a bit much while they were still in Praxus. Already she anticipated shocked stares over her doors and the few subtle (for anything Polyhexian) embellishments Jazz had added around the center seam of her armor.

“Y’can add th’rest later,” she promised at Jazz’s adorable pout over not being able to decorate her helm. “I’ll wear all th’paint y’want, an’ paint ya up t’match!”

Jazz practically vibrated with excitement. Prowl knew that painting on the glowing wake-light fish paint was something mates (and prospective mates) did, but Jazz’s desire to paint, and wear, more than just the chest-seam line seemed to stem from more than just a desire to get her hands all over Prowl.

Fortunately, there was a way Prowl could indulge her desire for more touching, at least. “Still need t’fix m’polish,” she said, offering the cloth to Jazz. “Know anyone who can help with that?”

Jazz snatched the cloth with a sound of glee. Prowl’s small collection of paints, polish, and other Polyhexian cosmetics was spread out around her room. Prowl had very firmly shut her valet out. Once she got to the capital, it would be harder to justify both the Polyhexian polish and dismissing her servants in favor of letting her bondmate fix her up, but for now she was going to take advantage of being in Hightower instead.

Having put on the much more durable island finish this morning, it was a very quick polish, more an excuse to submit herself to Jazz’s hands and care than something that was needed to make her presentable. And she knew the instant Jazz was done, because she hummed against Prowl’s doors, nibbling on the joint where one joined to her back.

_ “That  _ ain’t polishin’,” Prowl said, doors twitching slightly at the stimulation.

“Gotta test it,” Jazz whispered back, the vibration  _ thrumming _ against the joint before she moved to the other. “Gotta make sure it’s… durable.”

“Really? Again?” It hadn’t been that long since their last merge (on the catamaran, under a  _ blanket, _ where  _ everyone could see and hear them).  _ Now her doors folded down further in renewed embarrassment, even as she felt heat starting to build in her lines.

“Will never git enough’a ya,” Jazz purred, claws trailing lightly down her sides. “Spent th’whole season thinkin’a ya, imaginin’ this…” Prowl felt her claws stroking her bumper, inching their way upward.

“Y’imagined makin’ us late fer dinner, didja?” They probably did have just enough time for a quick merge, and it would feel good — Jazz always made her feel good — but Prowl didn’t want to risk the distraction. “Come on, we need t’git going. Test th’durability later.”

Jazz tilted her head uncomprehendingly, and Prowl wondered if one of the words she’d used wasn’t quite right for what she was trying to say. But before she could ask, Jazz shrugged. With one last kiss to her door, she let go and climbed off her. “Kay.”

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” Prowl asked, not wanting to repeat the mistake in the future if she had indeed made one.

“Terlambat,” Jazz said without judgment, now used to helping Prowl with her gaps in the language.  _ Late _ was the translation Prowl had gotten from her books. “S’fer storms or other weather that stays past its season, t’th’detriment’a th’living. Terlambat’s a monster, a lurker in th’deep. Like most monsters, ‘e was once a mech who perished at sea, inna storm, but ‘e couldn’t find ‘is way t’th’sky an’ instead ‘is spark sank t’th’depths, where ‘is rage festered fer ten seasons. When ‘e found ‘is way t’th’surface again, ‘e latched on t’th’storms, anchorin’ ‘em an’ usin’ ‘em t’try t’climb t’th’sky. But th’rain made th’clouds slick an’ ‘e fell back down t’th’ocean. So when th’storms’re ‘terlambat’, it’s th’monster Terlambat holdin’ ‘em in place, tryin’ again t’climb t’th’sky.”

“Ah.” That  _ would  _ make what she had said confusing. “Suppose it doesn’t make a lotta sense t’talk about a monster holdin’ us back from goin’ somewhere.” She smiled at the bizarre image that conjured.  _ “Late,”  _ the Praxan word, “means anything happenin’ after or longer’n it’s supposed to, not just th’weather. Us showin’ up t’th’meal after we’re supposed t’be there’d make us  _ late.” _

“Kay.”

“Though I can think’a one monster that could hold us back,” Prowl said after a cursory glance around the room didn’t reveal a certain cybercat. “Sundance, where are you?”

“Busy!” she meowed back from somewhere under Prowl’s berth.

“Busy with what?” Prowl walked over and bent down to peer under the edge of the berth. “You’d better not be getting yourself covered in dust, or we’ll have to polish you next.”

“I’m  _ hunting,” _ she mewed.

“Hunting?” Hunting  _ what?  _ “Please don’t tell me there’s a nest of something under there.” Prowl didn’t see anything, except her familiar crouched down under the berth, audial-flaps betraying an intense focus at the wall, but…

“Okay,” the cat agreed. “Won’t tell you.”

The center of her chevron hit the edge of the berth’s frame with a dull  _ thunk!  _ “Fantastic.”

“Hmm?” Jazz crouched down next to her. “What’s th’matter?”

“Somethin’ under th’bed,” Prowl replied. “Dunno what it is, but she’s tryin’ t’catch it.”

Jazz looked under the berth at the cat, still utterly focused on the… whatever it was, somewhere behind the wall. She sniffed, then reached under, wiggling her fingers. “Chut, chut! Here kitty.”

The cat sniffed, and glared at the fingers. “She obviously doesn’t know me very well if she thinks that’s going to distract me!” she yowled. Despite her words, her audios were focused on Jazz’s hand instead of the wall.

“You can catch the thing later,” Prowl tried, flying in the face of all sense,  _ reasoning  _ with her. “I’m sure it will still be there.” Unfortunately. Sundance catching her prey wasn’t a problem at all, except for her timing. “It’s not going to come out of the wall until we’re gone or in recharge anyway.”

“I want to catch it no—  _ what was that!” _ Sundance’s focus abruptly shifted entirely to Jazz’s hand, which was just wiggling the same as it had been a klik ago. Jazz gave the cat, and Prowl, an innocent look. “Keh. Won’t work,” she insisted, and turned back to the wall.

Innocent expression never wavering, Jazz’s claws scraped lightly on the floor —  _ Skritch! Skri-skritch! _ — and Sundance’s head whipped back around to focus intently on the strange, mysterious noise. A noise that stayed strange and mysterious as Jazz just wiggled her fingers half-sparkedly and didn’t repeat the sound… until Sundance had turned away again, though this time Prowl could hear her muttering “I don’t know what she’s doing, but I’m going to catch her at it!” with the twitching of her tail. She  _ pretended _ to watch the wall.

“Chut! Chut!” Jazz pulled her hand around, so Sundance could only watch it from the very edge of her vision, then made the skritching noise again.

“HA!” Sundance spun-pounced on Jazz’s hand, which she kept just a micron ahead of her tiny claws until she was out from under the bed.

Jazz scooped her up in her hands. “Aka! Such a good lil’ shipcat!”

Prowl reached over to stroke ruffled plating as Sundance complained over her capture. “It will be here when we get back,” she reiterated before switching back to Polyhexian. “Thanks. Thought we’d be here all night waitin’ on ‘er!”

“Stepper can’t do that,” Jazz preened, bragging again.

“Oh?” Prowl pulled herself back up, then held out her arms for her cat. “An’ why’s that?”

“Cuz Stepper’s a  _ tarkona.” _ Jazz snorted derisively, climbing to her feet. “‘E don’t know anything ‘bout cats.”

“Takes one t’know one, hmm?” Sundance squirmed in her arms when Jazz handed her over, twisting until she could climb up to her usual perch on Prowl’s shoulder. “‘M glad yer a cat too.”

Jazz preened again. “Kiss?”

“I like how easy it is t’reward ya,” Prowl grinned, obligingly leaning in so Jazz could get her kiss.

She squeaked when Jazz’s kiss didn’t stop at a small peck of her lips. Gently, she pressed her lips against Prowl’s and coaxed them open, deepening the kiss. Prowl went along with it for a few nanokliks, letting herself enjoy it before reining herself back in.

“‘S time t’go,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Ready?”

Jazz pouted.

“Aww.” Prowl raised a hand to gently touch her face. “Just imagine how much I’ll have t’reward ya fer after it’s over.”

“Sure,” she chuckled.

Prowl straightened, shifting to resettle her armor and then offering her arm to Jazz. “Shall we?” she said formally in Praxan.

As Prowl had demonstrated, Jazz took her arm. The slightly widened bit of armor on Jazz’s arm made the position a bit awkward. Jazz made a face of disgust at the predicament — unable to move or fight, yet kept at a distance unsuitable for petting — acting properly had gotten her into.

“Thanks fer doin’ this,” Prowl said, silently wishing for everything to go as well as it possibly could. “Really.”

About the only good thing about hooking arms like this was that she and Jazz walked side-by-side. But even that was turned less-than-ideal as she led Jazz through the halls. Jazz kept trying to stop and look around, and Prowl felt her jerk each time her steps faltered when something caught her attention.

“Y’can look at all th’stuff on th’way back,” she said, sorry they didn’t have time now. “After th’meal when there’s nowhere else we have’ta be.”

“Kay,” Jazz agreed, but it didn’t stop her from trying to look at everything that interested her. Prowl was relieved when they reached the entrance to the ballroom.

The herald opened the door immediately for them. He stepped into the room and loudly announced, “Imperial Princess Prowl and her intended, Warrior Jazz of Polyhex!” surprising Jazz, who jumped into Prowl, tangling them both.

Right as everyone looked up from what they’d been doing at them.

“Yer fine,” Prowl said, as much to herself as to Jazz. Keeping her field and expression calm, she helped Jazz get herself unhooked so they could continue into the room. “He’s called a  _ herald _ an’ ‘e does that whenever anyone comes in so everyone’ll know who they are.”

Jazz’s armor ruffled, disentangling herself and pulling her arm out of Prowl’s. “Shouldn’t startle people,” she muttered. “Mech’s lucky y’had m’throwing hand.” She took Prowl’s hand this time, intertwining their fingers, instead of hooking arms.

“Please don’t attack anyone,” Prowl said, giving her fingers a squeeze. “‘M sorry I didn’t warn ya; I’m so used t’it I didn’t think ‘e could be startling.”

“Wouldn’t’ve meant to,” Jazz grumbled. She let Prowl lead her down into the room, at which point most of the guests pointedly stopped looking at them. Prowl was relieved. Now she could take a moment to discreetly look around to see who else was present.

Ultra Magnus was, not surprisingly, the easiest to spot as the largest mech in the room. Prowl didn’t immediately recognize who he was currently talking to, but he looked like a minor noble or merchant rather than a military mech. Those worthies were gathered around the blue and yellow Sentinel, Ultra Magnus’ young heir. The gray-green general closest to him she recognized right away: Fusilade, a strong proponent of restricting Praxus’ interactions with Polyhex.

Wonderful.

Jazz made no note of the trouble there; she was too busy looking around, trying to take in the sights. A yank on her hand as Jazz came to a stop made Prowl do the same and look up at the great stylized map of Praxus lit by two chandeliers and dozens of wall sconces. Compared to the decorations in the castle in the city of Praxus, it was quite plain, but it was obvious Jazz had never seen anything like it.

“‘S a drawin’a Praxus, showin’ where everything in th’ _ kingdom _ is,” Prowl said, not sure if there was anything she could compare it to that Jazz would be familiar with. Did Polyhexians even have maps? She’d never heard of any, though of course that didn’t mean much. “Like m’star chart shows where th’stars are in th’sky, th’ _ map  _ shows where cities’n such are on land.”

Jazz continued to stare at it uncomprehendingly. “Why’s it on th’sky?”

“It’s on th’ _ ceiling  _ t’show it’s important t’everyone who stands under it — like how ships fly flags above everyone t’show th’people all belong t’th’same crew.” A crude analogy, but Prowl couldn’t think of any other unifying signifier Jazz might be familiar with. It was a demonstration of unity and power. Here in Hightower, a map like this was a symbol of allegiance, a reminder of who they all were: Praxans. “It shows we all belong t’th’same clan.” Sort of. The same really big, overarching clan, anyway.

Jazz tilted her head as she considered the words. Her visor blinked off and on. Before Prowl could try and explain further, however, the small crowd of mechs and femmes discreetly watching them parted before the massive form of Ultra Magnus. Sullenly, Sentinel trailed in his wake. He was a smaller frame than Ultra Magnus, but much larger than either of the two femmes, with wide shoulders and a prominent chin.

“Imperial Princess Prowl,” he greeted. “Warrior Jazz. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all. We were just admiring the map.” Prowl turned to Jazz to translate. “He’s welcoming us an’ introducin’ his  _ heir,  _ the future-chief’a Hightower.”

Jazz eyed the two mechs. One of the lookers-on came too close, brushing her with his doors as he turned too quickly, pretending he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, and Jazz whirled on him with a snarl. Prowl kept her grip on her beloved’s hand tight; the  _ last _ thing she wanted was Jazz drawing a weapon on someone for standing too close! She seemed jumpy, and Prowl couldn’t blame her.

Luckily, Ultra Magnus did not seem perturbed by her reaction. “I did tell everyone to stay back from her,” he apologized.

“Violent barbarians,” Sentinel muttered. One of the lord’s massive hands came down on his heir’s wide shoulders in silent admonishment.

“I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my new heir,” Ultra Magnus said evenly. “This is Sentinel.”

“We have not yet met, no, though I have begun to hear things about you.” Not very promising things yet, honestly, but he was still very, very young: a newling, not even a full vorn old. “Hello, Sentinel.”

“Greetings, Imperial Princess,” he returned, pointedly not greeting Jazz.

“My intended,” Prowl said, forcibly drawing his attention to her, “and I are grateful to be welcomed so warmly to your city.”

Jazz snarled at another too-close eavesdropper and inched closer to Prowl. “Rude!” She bristled her plating. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a fishing cat!”

“Shouldn’t sneak up on  _ any _ cat,” Sundance meowed from Prowl’s shoulder. “Not,” she licked her paw, “that they  _ could.” _

Oblivious to both Jazz’s words and the cat’s, Sentinel gave Jazz a disgusted look. “Are you sure that’s tame enough to bring here?”

Ultra Magnus’s hand on the young mech’s shoulder squeezed in a clear warning.

_ “She,”  _ Prowl said coldly before the Lord of Hightower could voice his reprimand, “is more civilized than some, who make their judgements only on hearsay rather than seeking their own experience,” not-so-subtly implying that he was one such. “Probly doesn’t need sayin’, but ‘e’s got a few problems t’work through when it comes t’bein’ any kinda chief,” she apologized to Jazz. “Ultra Magnus’ll deal with ‘im after this’s over fer bein’ an embarrassment to ‘im.”

“Could thrash ‘im,” Jazz suggested, far more cheerfully than her earlier insistence about not tolerating insults had implied she’d take such. “Won’t hurt th’newlin’ much, promise.”

“I’ll tell Ultra Magnus y’reserve th’right.” Not now, but privately, later. For now, what she said was, “Are the translators you mentioned present? It will be easier to manage additional introductions with them at our side.” Specifically at Jazz’s side at a respectable distance, preventing anyone else from bumping into her.

“I will send them your way,” Ultra Magnus promised, with a dire look to Sentinel. “I apologize for my heir’s behavior. I do hope you won’t hold his inexperience and lack of decorum too much against him. His test scores were quite high in those areas concerned with statecraft, though I have yet to see evidence of such.”

Sentinel sputtered, his frame heating in acute embarrassment, but even young as he was, he knew better than to snap back at the older lord. He muttered something sullenly and Ultra Magnus pointedly pushed him back out into the throng of people, away from the princess and her intended.

“Don’t trip on yer chin!” Jazz called out mockingly to the young heir, who might not have understood the words but could certainly understand the tone and stiffened. “Y’want m’t’stop callin’ ya names,” she crowed to his taut, angry shoulders, “y’gotta make me.”

Sundance snickered as, with a final poisonous look to Jazz, Sentinel slunk away with his figurative tail between his legs.

Prowl hid her own amusement a little better, but didn’t mask it entirely. There might have been more diplomatic ways to deal with that situation, but listening to Jazz insult the brash young would-be-lord was rewarding in its own way. “It is my sincerest hope that he is able to use this experience as one of many to reflect and grow into a lord worthy of your legacy,” she said, effectively letting Ultra Magnus know that while she wasn’t pleased by his heir’s behavior, she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

“It is my hope as well. Raids on ships have been especially numerous this vorn, and that has colored his opinions. The coming trade season is going to be a shock, one he will learn from.” Or else, it was implied.

Privately Prowl thought his opinions were also being colored by those who had more than a single vorn’s worth of negative interactions with Polyhex, but she kept that to herself. Sentinel would either learn to take the views of mechs like General Fusilade into consideration without letting them blind him to the nuances of politics, or he wouldn’t. “I had heard of the increased raiding this season from the reports sent to the capital. The timing is unfortunate, but perhaps our union will be the first step toward a solution, even a partial one, in the future.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ultra Magnus said. “In the meantime, my scribe has informed me your copy of our laws is dry. Shall I have it delivered to your room?”

“That would be wonderful, yes. Thank you.”

“I will have it done immediately.” With a bow, he stepped back. “Please enjoy your evening, Imperial Princess. Warrior Jazz.”

He paused. Prowl turned to Jazz. “He’s gonna send over th’mechs ‘e found t’help translate now. Anything y’wanna say before ‘e goes?” She gave her bondmate a wry grin. “Anything nicer’n what ya said t’Sentinel?”

“Where’s th’food?” Jazz grinned back, showing fangs. “Y’said there’d be food? Which I brought!”

“Did, and did. Maybe th’others’ll like th’kelapa ‘s much’s I do.” Prowl nodded to Ultra Magnus. “Have your mechs meet us by the sideboard.” Then, conversation concluded, she pulled Jazz in the direction of the food.

Not all formal gatherings served food buffet style, but that was indeed what was set up at the side of the ballroom. Prowl thought at first that it would only have appetizers, since it wouldn’t be very practical to have servants circulating with trays in so small a court. Upon closer inspection, however, it turned out Ultra Magnus had decided to forego having everyone move to be seated for the meal itself and had just had his staff lay out the full range of selections here. It was a good arrangement to facilitate mingling and socializing without being locked into a seating arrangement… or chairs, though there were a few of those set up at different places around the room, often accompanied by small tables.

Given Jazz’s initial difficulties with chairs, it was a very adroit decision on Ultra Magnus’ part.

For a moment, Prowl worried that Jazz didn’t understand what the plates were for. She tilted her head and examined the shallow curve of the nichrome bowl and the gold filigree along the edge. Thankfully she proved simply intrigued by the uniformity of the bowls! When she was done looking, she pulled two from the stack and deftly snatched a trio kelapa balls from the fancy arrangement of them, ignoring suppressed protests of the servants in charge of doling out reasonable portions. A variety of other gels went in both bowls as well and with a smile, Jazz handed one of them (the one with two kelapa, to Jazz’s one) to Prowl. “These good?”

“These’re great.” She had ended up with a clear gel filled with multicolored flecks, a light blue one with white occlusions that promised to be mildly intoxicating, and a stack of yellow wafers.”‘Specially these,” Prowl picked up one of the kelapa balls with a smile. “Someone knows how ta spoil me.”

Jazz leaned forward, angling to steal a kiss. “I—  _ watch it!”  _ she snarled at the mech behind her, who had crowded too close.

The mech, Ultra Magnus’ tax collector, a low-ranked noble, stammered an apology more to Prowl than to Jazz, but Jazz huffed, satisfied. Prickly as any cat who’d just had her tail stepped on, Jazz stalked to the nearest corner of the room, dragging Prowl by her hand, and plunked herself into it, facing the room.

“Ultra Magnus told people not t’crowd, but there musta been somethin’ wrong with their hearin’ when ‘e said it,” Prowl sighed. It really was amazing just how close everyone was trying to get without first engaging in conversation. As Jazz had put it: rude! “Should be a less of a problem once y’got three’a us around ya.”

Jazz’s claws flexed in Prowl’s grip and she sighed. “Don’t wanna embarrass ya. I’m tryin’ not t’draw weapons, but I ain’t sure I can not if this keeps up.” She let go of Prowl’s hand to delicately pick up a treat, but instead of eating it she held it up to Sundance, still (miraculously) perched on Prowl’s shoulder. The cat took it and the chance to jump off, running away to find a place more to her liking to devour it.

With a smirk, Jazz picked one up off of Prowl’s plate and held it out to her.

Prowl considered. It would be a talking point if people saw Jazz feeding her, which someone was practically guaranteed to even with them in the corner and Prowl’s back to the room; but, by the same token, anyone watching would have already seen what Jazz intended to do whether Prowl went along with it or not.

“Just th’one,” she compromised, knowing how much Jazz enjoyed it. “Can eat th’rest by m’self though.”

“Yes!” Jazz put the multicolored-fleck-filled gel to Prowl’s lips, right where she could take it or nibble on it at her leisure. Prowl took it, but let her tongue dart out just enough to brush Jazz’s fingers in the process. Jazz’s engine revved, and she darted in to steal that kiss she’d been trying for earlier.

“No mate-touching,” Prowl reminded her, taking a deliberate step back. Primus, but Jazz was ruining her for polite company!

Jazz’s answering disappointed groan was unfeigned, but her huff and pouting as she hunched over her own bowl was more deliberately comical.

“Imperial Princess?” Prowl turned slightly to see a black mech with blue accents on his chevron and doors standing a respectful, even hesitant distance away, doors lowered differentially. “My name is Silver. Lord Ultra Magnus said you wanted to see me?”

“If I have the pleasure of addressing someone conversationally fluent in Polyhexian, then yes,” Prowl answered hopefully, turning fully so she could introduce Jazz. “This is my intended, Jazz.”

“Fair winds’n gentle waves, Jazz and Prowl,” the mech said haltingly, but fluently in Polyhexian. “M’name’s Silver. May I approach your fire?”

Jazz’s smile lit up. “Sure!” She plucked a treat off her own plate and handed it to the mech. “We got plenty!”

The action seemed to confuse the translator, but he politely took the offered fuel. “Thank you.” He looked to Prowl, as though asking if he was doing alright.

“Welcome,” she said in Polyhexian with a subtle nod of encouragement. Knowledge of the language didn’t equal knowledge of the culture — something she knew very well from her own experience and how much she still had to learn! — and his accent was a bit odd, unpracticed, but overall he’d made a good first impression in her book. “‘M glad yer here. I didn’t realize how hard it’d be t’translate on top’a regular conversation on my own.” Speaking for herself, to Jazz, and for Jazz was a lot to juggle. “I was startin’ t’worry Jazz’d end up feelin’ left out.”

“Ain’t feelin’ any’a th’sort,” Jazz muttered.

“I’m honored t’act as yer translator,” Silver said at the same time.

Prowl smiled. “Have y’met th’other translator yet? I’m hopin’ we’ll all be able t’work together well.”

“If you’ll forgive me for eavesdropping, Imperial Princess,” a bright silver mech said as he approached their corner, “yes, Silver and I have met previously, and have both been looking forward to working with you, and you,” he bowed slightly first to her, then to Jazz, “as well.” The gesture served in place of lowered doorwings, since his Iaconi-influenced frame didn’t have any. “M’name’s Shadow. ‘S there room fer another at yer fire?”

Jazz looked critically at her plate, then picked a treat to hand him. “Sure. Are y’two warriors’r priest-mages like Prowl’r somethin’ else?”

Silver looked to Shadow indicating he should answer first.

“‘M a warrior,” the silver mech said. “Th’kind that stays put’n guards things. I got a group I’m in charge of that watches over th’warehouses.”

Jazz’s gaze flicked to Prowl, then she shrugged. She didn’t seem to think much of that. “S’good,” she answered. Then she stood up straighter and puffed out her chest proudly. “I’m a  _ great _ warrior. M’warriors had a bunch’a successful raids this last season, ‘cluding  _ two _ on Prax ships.”

The only saving grace, Prowl thought, was that the three of them were the only ones who could understand what she’d just said.

Fortunately, amazingly, neither mech reacted with immediate anger. Shadow didn’t have much of a reaction at all, in fact, beyond looking a bit embarrassed for her sake. Silver was more sorrowful, but he too didn’t suddenly become hostile toward Jazz. Prowl sent up a prayer of thanks to Primus.

“‘S’a great feat’a skill,” she said as diplomatically as possible, “but a lotta Praxans’ll get upset if ya brag about attackin’ our ships.”

That took the figurative wind out of Jazz’s just as figurative sails. “Then what’m I supposed t’brag about?” she whined, plaintively.

Prowl didn’t have a good answer to that. “Sea monsters?” she suggested at random.

She watched Jazz’s visor blink off then on again. Then she puffed her armor out again. “Sailin’ back t’th’islands after tragically,” she placed her hand over her spark and lowered her voice seductively, “leavin’ ya behind, Rico’n I saw a boat-eating sotong, not more’n  _ five _ boat lengths from our kattumaram! More’n close enough fer it t’grab us!”

“Five regular kattumaram lengths?” Shadow paused, visibly working out how long that was. “Wow,” he said a klik later. “That’s pretty darn close!”

Jazz looked at him blankly for a moment, then nodded enthusiastically. “Is! Rico’n I got our flint’n steel ready. If we were gonna be eaten, we were gonna burn all th’way down.”

“What’re sotong?” Prowl asked, not recognizing the word. “Other’n big enough t’threaten a whole boat?”

Jazz paused. “S’a really, really big cumi.” She held out her hands, showing something that was only just the length of her forearm. “Like th’wheke, only ‘stead’a crawlin’ on th’rocks, they’re swimmers’n shaped fer it, like spearheads. Cumi come t’th’surface at night, so many there’s more’a ‘em than stars in th’sky above’n we pull ‘em up in our nets. S’what th’ika’s made outta. But sotong’re th’gods’a th’cumi’n they eat our kattumaram when they see us! Eat Prax boats too,” she tacked on, a little sullenly.

Prowl let that one go; she wasn’t wrong about Polyhexians not being the only misfortune a Praxian ship could run into. They were just the only hazard, besides getting lost and running out of energon which all sailors rightfully feared, that Prowl had heard about before Jazz had started telling her about things like monsters and storms. She believed Jazz completely; her people were a  _ lot _ more familiar with the sea and life on it, but not everyone would or did.

“That mean y’were dealing with this thing in th’dark?” Silver asked, looking a little anxious at the thought.

Jazz shrugged to indicate that didn’t matter to her. Polyhexians were much better at seeing in the dark than Praxans, to the point that Jazz and Ricochet didn’t even keep a lantern on their kattumaram. “Fire’s th’only thing a sotong’ll flinch from. Once one grabs ya, th’only way t’git ‘im t’let go is t’set th’boat on fire.”

“But that ain’t good either,” Shadow said, sounding a lot like Smokescreen playing into one of Jazz or Ricochet’s stories. Maybe he was more used to this type of interaction than Silver.

“Better’n being eaten,” Silver muttered though.

Jazz nodded agreement. “Is. Moanna can be merciful. ‘E’ll wash ya up somewhere eventually, an’ y’join a new clan there. Or drown. One’a those two. But if yer swallowed by a sotong, then yer spark can’t even see th’stars or be found by Cephalopoda an’ guided t’th’ sky.”

“So what’d ya do? Since clearly y’survived t’come back t’me,” Prowl said, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the room. They were going to have to move and socialize soon, or at the very least, she was.

“Turned our sail t’th’wind and got outta there!” Jazz grinned, like this was the most exciting end of the story she could tell.

Prowl giggled, and both translators chuckled along with her. “Smart.”

“Am!”

“Very.” And she was being a very good sport about the evening so far, despite clearly being out of her element. It made Prowl so proud of her. “I haven’t said hello t’everyone yet, so I need t’wander ‘round again fer a bit.”

“Kay.” Jazz trailed her fingers down Prowl’s arm and intertwined them with hers. Seemed she was taking Prowl’s instruction to stay close seriously (and also maybe indulging in the only touching Prowl had given blanket permission for this evening).

The two translators exchanged a look. “I’ll come with y’two,” Silver offered.

“Good.” Prowl switched briefly to Praxan. “Thank you both for your assistance. We will work out a schedule for when each of you will need to be available once we arrive at the capital.” Neither of them would have to do much until then, really, even tonight — except for one unexpected task. “For now, I would appreciate if you would maintain a respectful distance for yourselves, and for others,” she added, softly but meaningfully, “in our company.”

Jazz didn’t usually have issues with (or even any concept of) personal space, but she was having them tonight. If Prowl had to ask a translator to fill in as an impromptu bodyguard solely for the purpose of keeping others at a distance, she would do it.

“Yes, Princess,” Silver answered with a bow. As Prowl pulled Jazz away from the wall (and automatically handed both their empty plates to a servant coming around to collect them), he moved into their wake. A deferential position, one that also just so happened to keep anyone from stepping too close to Jazz from behind.

And not a moment too soon. Now that they’d come out of their little fortress of privacy in the corner, people quickly came forward to greet them.

The first was the Lady in charge of the local mines. Far enough away from Hightower itself to have its own Lord, the territory’s Lady Caryatid was still Ultra Magnus’ subordinate. Prowl had met her before during her engagement to Arcee. At that time she’d found the Lady polite, inoffensive, and politically timid.

“I hope all went well on your journey here?” she asked after the perfunctory greetings. “I must admit, I was not prepared for the amount of rain we encountered coming from the capital.”

Prowl heard Silver dutifully echo the words for Jazz, who snorted. “Ain’t rainin’.”

“It’s not raining particularly hard,” Silver translated.

“I have to agree with your intended,” Caryatid said pleasantly. “Hightower’s weather isn’t particularly nice during this season. The capital gets gorgeous snow; we get deca-cycles of drizzle.”

“Polyhex refers to this time of the vorn as the storm season.” Prowl glanced at one of the large ballroom windows at the dark sky. “I remember wondering what that could be like, after how beautiful the weather was on my last visit.”

“Warm, sunny, and suitable for partying long into the night?” The femme’s smile was pleasant.

“Essentially,” Prowl agreed, though her late nights had been solitary ones in the astronomy tower — before someone had decided to climb all the things and carry her off! Then her nights had been quite different.

“Polyhexians did choose a good time to call their vornly truce.”

Jazz was watching them, her gaze going from one to the other, curiously, but she didn’t comment. Maybe she was confused by the fact that they were talking about the weather when they could just look outside at it?

“Well, at least there is reason to celebrate tonight, whatever the weather.” Even if not everyone was celebrating, as evidenced by the still-glowering Sentinel and his sycophants. Luckily, Caryatid wasn’t likely to take his side on the matter of the upcoming wedding. Prowl had never known the Lady to hold a political opinion that didn’t align with Ultra Magnus’; not publicly, anyway. Perhaps she talked over her concerns with Ultra Magnus in private, or wrote reports that disagreed with him, but she never spoke contrarily. “Do enjoy yourself.”

“I hope you and your intended have a pleasant evening as well, Imperial Princess.” Lady Caryatid easily allowed Prowl to exit from the conversation and moved on… probably to talk about the weather with someone else.

Prowl hated small talk.

Jazz wrapped her arms around Prowl from behind, who moved her doorwings to let her intended press a kiss to her shoulder. “What’s so interestin’ ‘bout th’weather?”

“Honestly? Not much. ‘S’a nice, neutral topic, that’s all.” She shouldn’t let Jazz keep hanging off her like that… Jazz nuzzled her again. It was very pleasant, and she really was behaving, not doing the things that were intentionally arousing. Just… cuddling. Perhaps against her (rapidly eroding) better judgement, Prowl didn’t move her. “Ain’t a lotta things that’re easy t’talk about without accidentally sayin’ th’wrong thing.”

“Didn’t know talkin’ about raidin’ ships was a bad thing,” Jazz murmured, softly and close enough to Prowl’s audio (which she was still nuzzling) that it was likely even Silver didn’t hear it.

“I know,” Prowl answered softly as well. “Raidin’ our ships’s different than raidin’ other clans though. Stepper doesn’t hold it against ya one season t’th’next, but Praxans do. And there’ve been a  _ lotta  _ raids this season. More’n usual.”

“Yeah,” Jazz confirmed, without any trace of shame — but also not bragging about it either, not this time. “The rains were terlambat.”

“Now who’s talkin’ ‘bout th’weather?” But Prowl assumed it was somehow relevant. “Why’s the rain bein’ terlambat make a difference?”

“Can’t plant crystals until th’storms stop,” Jazz reiterated. “An’ can’t make chuno after they come again.”

It still didn’t make any sense to Prowl how that would affect the frequency of raids, but clarification would have to wait. “Gonna need ya t’help me understand that better later, cuz I guess I’m still missin’ something,” she said, reluctantly unwinding Jazz’s hands from around her waist. “Right now there’s a coupla merchants over there waitin’ fer us t’talk to ‘em.”

Indeed, some of the guests were circling like sharkticons around prey.

“Sure,” Jazz agreed, fingers trailing reluctantly over the princess’ plating as she pulled away. “Y’want m’ta gitcha some more fuel? Y’like liquids, right?”

“Do.” Prowl smiled at her. “Surprise me.”

Silver went with Jazz, leaving Prowl alone on the floor. The mechs that rushed in to fill the void around her looked like turbowolves closing in for the kill. Or koekoea squabbling over a choice scrap in the marketplace. Smiling at the mental image, she chatted and had even more conversations about the weather, fashions in the capital (glitter paints with large flecks were Silverstreak’s current favorite and as such it was popular for painting accent kibble) which Prowl blatantly disregarded, and other such inane topics. She did mention the kelapa balls and that they were a favorite of hers, and knew that would make the rounds of the room, prompting everyone to want to try them.

Jazz eventually returned with a flute of something and pressed a kiss to Prowl’s helm, at which point she found herself explaining kissing to her current conversation partner. Not an easy task, as it turned out. It was a Polyhexian expression of affection (and lust), true, but  _ why _ they did it, exactly, she didn’t know. Why Polyhexians did something other than bunting, Prowl could guess — perhaps touching foreheads together had gained prevalence among the mainland nations under the Empire of Galifar and just hadn’t spread to the Polyhexian Islands — but why  _ kissing _ specifically… Fortunately, the very minor lord (Ultra Magnus’ tax collector, who had been snarled at earlier for crowding too close) didn’t care about the cultural justification and was more interested in knowing  _ was it safe? _ Of course it was safe!

As she hinted it was time for him to move on and he made way for another conversation partner, Prowl took the chance to see where Jazz had gotten to. She was only a short distance away, telling some outrageous story, through Silver. Now that mechs weren’t “sneaking up” behind her, she seemed to be thriving on the attention.

Absently, she took a sip — her first — of the energon Jazz had fetched for her… and was very grateful she’d only taken a  _ small  _ sip. Perhaps telling Jazz to surprise her had been a mistake! Prowl considered the flute in her hand, wondering if her bondmate had mixed additives purely for how they looked rather than how they tasted. The blend was quite pretty to look at, a vibrant slightly purple tinted pink, but the flavor was, simply put, terrible.

A quick look at the identical flute in Jazz’s hand proved she’d made the same thing for herself, though she didn’t seem to be having any trouble drinking it. Lucky her.

With an inward sigh, Prowl resigned herself to doing her best to ignore the taste and finish the drink. This wasn’t a large enough gathering for her to discreetly lose the flute by setting it down and “forgetting” it, and while Jazz wouldn’t be offended if she chose not to finish it, “rejecting” it would be commented on by others.

“Compass,” she greeted the nearby merchant baron after a second sip, careful to keep any distaste that could be misinterpreted from her expression. “How have you been?” Compass was one of those who owned a whole fleet of ships, as well as doing business in the trade season with the Polyhexians who came ashore. His business was quite extensive; centered on Hightower, of course, but he held offices in other Praxan cities (including the capital) as well as a few foreign ports. He wasn’t a lord or other member of the nobility, but he was a powerful figure in his own right and, here in Hightower, whose very existence was due to and depended on trade, he enjoyed equal status with many nobles.

Already aware of the current fashion in the capital, his dark teal plating may have been a sensible choice for most of his frame, but his bright green accents were painted on with the sparkleflake variant so popular there. It glittered on his chevron, flashed on his doors, and made everyone look at him when they lowered differentially. But what really caught Prowl’s attention was the thin line of green painted down his chest, a deliberate invocation of the Polyhexian symbolism and a mirror of the glowing mark on Prowl’s.

“Quite well,” he answered. “It’s a delight to see you here, Imperial Princess. I must already apologize that I will be unable to make it to the wedding. I certainly wouldn’t have also missed tonight.”

“I will miss you in the capital,” Prowl said genuinely. It would have been nice to see him there, since he was both pleasant company and supportive of her taking a Polyhexian mate, though truthfully, due to his lack of a title, he likely hadn’t been invited. “I hope whatever venture has you occupied is a successful one. Is your bondmate here with you?” she asked, looking pointedly at the green line of paint on his chest. “Your choice of color is a good one.” Both because it went well with his other accents, and because it was unique — most of the Praxans who had adopted the use of such marks to indicate that they were bonded (or just used them as a precaution against being kidnapped, even if they weren’t) used a non-glowing blue or black.

“I had to drag him out from under his latest project,” Compass said with amusement, “but yes, he’s here. Sulking in a corner, as usual. I think he’s going to adopt your familiar, in fact.”

Prowl glanced over and, sure enough, there was Sundance playing up her adorableness for all it was worth in exchange for pets and treats. “Are you sure she isn’t the one adopting him? She knows exactly what she’s doing, the little minx.”

“Cybercats always do.” The teal mech laughed.

“The other thing cats do,” a voice spoke up from behind Compass, who stepped aside to reveal General Fusilade and, with him, Sentinel and the rest of his clique, “especially feral ones, is  _ scratch.” _

“Only out of necessity,” Prowl countered. “It is possible to avoid being scratched, if care is taken to avoid being threatening.” Which was the exact opposite of what the general was doing now. He was deliberately trying to intimidate, to provoke a negative response he could capitalize on.

“How have we  _ ever _ provoked those barbarians to attack us?” the mech asked, abandoning his metaphor and speaking plainly. “If his His Most Honorable Imperial Highness the King believes you should be allowed to pursue a  _ personal _ union, I’ve no right to speak against it, but look at her.” He gestured to Jazz, which caught the islander’s attention and she abandoned her story (not that anyone was listening anymore) to coast up to Prowl and put a supportive hand on her back. “Don’t be fooled by the jewelry and flags she’s wearing; she is dressed to  _ kill.” _

“She is a warrior.” Jazz wasn’t so much dressed “to kill” as she was visibly capable of killing, in a way Praxan soldiers weren’t when off-duty. Prowl didn’t try to argue the nuance though. “She is not, however, here with hostile intent. It is my hope, and that of the king,” she emphasized, since the mech seemed to respect his authority, “that our union may lead to a better understanding and possibly even a lessening of the attacks you speak of. Is that not worth pursuing?”

“I feel like I understand a lot about the barbarians already, Imperial Princess.” Behind him, Sentinel called out  _ You tell her! _ and snickered. “Do you even know  _ why _ there are so few survivors of successful attacks? Because they throw us, dead or  _ alive, _ to the monsters they worship to be eaten! Our responsibility is to  _ protect Praxan soldiers, _ not cater to Polyhexian savagery.”

“My lack of personal experience with that reality does not mean I am unaware of it.” Living in the capital might have sheltered her from some of the more lurid descriptions, but not the statistics. “And I do not disagree that our soldiers deserve what protection we can give them when we ask protection of them. We differ only in our beliefs of how to actualize that protection.”

Prowl heard the tail end of Silver’s translation and felt Jazz’s building growl. She didn’t say anything though; frankly she thought it was a miracle Jazz hadn’t said anything so far.

“You,” the general’s gaze lingered on Jazz, the armor, the weapons slung over her back, the knives tied to her waist and leg — Prowl knew those knives were primarily tools, but she could definitely imagine a warrior in the grip of being possessed by their savage spirit guide pulling one of them to do damage — and her claws, “have a very  _ interesting _ way of showing you care, Imperial Princess,” he practically spat, then stalked back to Sentinel where he sullenly accepted the accolades of the clique.

“He’s only saying what we’re all thinking,” the young heir called mockingly as he led his sycophants away.

“Can still thrash ‘im,” Jazz drawled. “See if ‘is ego’s always th’same size as ‘is chin.”

“Don’t translate that,” Prowl told Silver, before the black mech could speak up.

“That was… interesting,” Compass said with a nervous chuckle as he stepped back up, pointedly turning his back on the young lord. “You handled him well, Imperial Princess.”

“The general is not alone in his opinion,” she allowed, relaxing a little now that he’d moved away, “but neither am I alone in mine. I ask only that he, and those of like mind, allow time to be the deciding factor between us.” She knew she wasn’t going to be able to convince everyone to be happy with her decision; if her opponents would just give her a chance before rushing to undercut her, that would be enough.

With a murmur of love and support and a kiss, Jazz went back to telling stories; similarly most of those who had interrupted their own socializing to pay attention to the drama returned to their own conversation partners, leaving Compass to continue without an audience. “That’s very wise of you, Imperial Princess.” He bowed shallowly, ostensibly to her wisdom, not her personally. “You would have made a fine ruler… and still could, I’m sure.”

“Your support is appreciated,” Prowl said carefully, navigating the subtext. She could use all the allies she could get — but not in a bid for the throne. She had no desire to foster factionalism within the kingdom, or to reassert herself in the line of succession. “But Prince Silverstreak is more than up to the task. I will be able to do more good for Praxus as its ambassador than as its monarch.”

“I hope the Imperial Prince continues to recognize your support and devotion, Imperial Princess,” Compass returned, not retracting his words or his support (or his promise to back her if she wanted the throne). “I feel though, that our conversation has wandered too far into the realm of politics, when it really should be a celebration of your upcoming wedding,” he said with a twinkle in his optics. “To that end, I took the liberty of commissioning a gift for you and your beloved.”

“You did?” The change in topic was welcome, but, “You did not have to.”

“Of course not, but you are a most beloved daughter of Praxus.” He smiled. “I expect you will have a great number of gifts from people not obligated to get one for you. I’m simply being selfish by bringing it up now, instead of sending it along to the capital to be lost in the pile.”

He was absolutely right about others sending gifts, Prowl knew. Nothing had shown up yet, to her knowledge, but there were servants in charge of sorting through the mail for anything urgent or perishable who would be collecting them all for her to look through. “I’m sure anything you commissioned would be too magnificent to be shuffled aside,” she said, confident even without seeing it that the gift would be impressive. Compass didn’t go for small gestures, when he made them.

“You flatter me,” he demurred. “Nevertheless, would you and your intended do me the honor of accepting my gift now, Imperial Princess?”

Selfish indeed! He wanted to see their reactions, and just as importantly, make sure everyone else in the ballroom saw too. Prowl considered for a moment, then decided to indulge his audacity. “We would be delighted to see it,” she said, beckoning to Jazz. “C’mere — Compass got a present fer us ‘e wants t’show off.”

Jazz preened as she returned to Prowl’s side. Her hands settled on Prowl’s hips. “S’about time,” she purred. “What’s ‘e want an’re we impressed enough t’give it t’im?”

That was unexpectedly shrewd of her mate, Prowl thought. With the limited understanding Jazz had shown of such things so far, she was a little bit surprised she had so quickly grasped the politics behind the gesture. “‘E wants th’others t’see us bein’ pleased with ‘is gift. ‘S’a mark’a status t’have our approval, an’ I’m leanin’ toward giving it.” It wouldn’t be a bad reward for his show of support.

“Kay. Let’s see it.” Jazz rubbed her cheek against Prowl’s.

As soon as he had her blessing, Compass summoned a servant to fetch the gift from his carriage. “Since I didn’t want to assume you’d accommodate me, Imperial Princess,” he explained.

The servant had obviously been waiting for the command and knew exactly where to go, because he was back in only a few kliks with two boxes. They were wrapped in a generic foil and no ribbons — probably so a bow wouldn’t be crushed in transport — and labeled in neatly calligraphed glyphs.  _ Imperial Princess Prowl _ on one, and  _ Serene Princess Jazz _ on the other. She and Jazz had yet to work out a good way of transcribing her name into Praxan, but Compass’ calligrapher had done very well at matching sound to glyph without overlapping too much extraneous, unintended meaning.

It was, to Prowl, a painfully inoffensive way of rendering her beloved’s name to writing. But he was giving Jazz the title of “princess”, nearly equal to Prowl’s, even if she had a hard time applying the adjective “serene” to Jazz.

Behind her, Jazz was practically vibrating in anticipation of the gift, whatever it was. A little concerned she would tear straight into the box the instant she got her claws on it, Prowl took her own first, making an example of  _ not  _ opening it right away. Jazz copied her. “Thank you,” she said to Compass, holding it respectfully in both hands. “These marks,” she told Jazz, tracing the glyphs for “princess” that appeared on both boxes, “are a recognition’a yer status.”

Jazz tilted her head at the marks. “S’a th’last sunrises’a a spark b’fore it settles down t’grow?” She traced the lines herself. “All th’loopin’, tryin’ t’explore,” she followed the loops in question. “It wants t’know everything it can ‘bout where th’winds’n stars’ve brought it. But it’s heavy an’ tired. It journeyed a long way, an’ soon it can’t help itself,” she followed the spiral at the end in a single, quick, motion, indicating the drawn out “z” sound of her name, “it’s drawn down t’th’ground, t’a body, t’rest.”

“That’s… wow. Y’see all’a that in it?” That was beautiful. To Prowl, the glyphs had been written with elegance and care, but were indelibly burdened by their meaning. Jazz was obviously seeing the elegance and grace, but the lines were saying something very different to her.

“Yeah.” Jazz shrugged. “S’a pretty simple spell, ain’t it? Ain’t got a lotta energy in it.”

That… was probably from how careful the ink strokes were. Prowl saw neatness and training; Jazz saw a lack of spontaneity.

“‘E was goin’ more fer respect than energy,” Prowl said with a small shrug of her own. Fascinating as their very different methods of reading — even if most wouldn’t call Jazz’s version reading — was, she couldn’t dwell on it right now. “So far it’s a good gift.”

“Kay.”

They were starting to draw a bit of a crowd, as more and more of the guests heard something was going on and came over to watch. Prowl spotted both Ultra Magnus and Caryatid a short distance away, and even General Fusilade and the other members of Sentinel’s clique were paying attention, though Sentinel himself pointedly had his back turned.

Prowl began carefully unwrapping her box, folding the foil down over the sides to reveal the lid. It wasn’t particularly ornate, and opened with a simple clasp; personally Prowl approved of the aesthetic, though if she had wanted to be picky she could have held it against him. Knowing Compass, however, the quality (and expense) of what was inside would more than compensate for the relatively plain packaging.

Jazz was still following her lead, though she actually managed to be even neater than Prowl with the foil, using her claws to peel back the edges with extreme precision. Prowl waited for her to finish examining the latch, then together they both lifted the lids.

“Oh!” Prowl couldn’t hold the soft exclamation back when she saw what was inside. It — they — were a pair of beautifully crafted tiaras, made of precious metals twined around delicate shells and set with small pearls. They were identically shaped: a curved band with the same patterning of shells with draping strands of pearls, but the accent colors were different. The shells on her tiara were tinted gold with leafed edges, whereas Jazz’s had a similar effect in silver.

“Pretty,” Jazz agreed, lifting hers out and setting the box on the ground where she put her foot on it possessively. She examined the crown from every angle, turning it this way and that. “What’s it fer?”

Right. Jazz had never seen her wearing her tiara, her usual one. The thing was back in her chambers with the rest of her Praxan jewelry, just as it had been a vorn and a season ago when they’d first met. “It’s jewelry that goes on yer helm,” Prowl explained, lifting hers from the box to take in all the details. The shells were all pristine, no chips or scratches beneath the metal and lacquer that had been used to seal them. She didn’t know the exact value of each one, but all totalled, especially once the pearls were added in, the two tiaras represented a lot of money in materials alone. The exquisite craftsmanship only served to add even more value to them both.

They also represented some very astute decision-making on Compass’s part. Using the shells showed he was well aware of Prowl’s penchant for Polyhexian accessories, and making Jazz’s the same as hers showed a similar awareness of how much Prowl cared about her. It was also a blatant declaration of his opinion of the match and a powerful assertion of his own prominence. Monetary extravagance aside, the fact was that this was a gift he wasn’t really entitled — literally — to give. A tiara (any crown, except the king’s own) was a gift for the nobility,  _ from  _ the nobility, and Compass was only a merchant baron. He’d risked a lot to commission these, and even more to present them in public. If Prowl hadn’t approved of this, he could have been ruined politically.

How to even begin explaining all of that to Jazz? “They’re fer the  _ wedding  _ ceremony,” she said, realizing in that moment that no one had done anything about a tiara for Jazz already, and they should have. Compass had gambled big and he’d just won the jackpot: there was no getting around the need for both of them to have one, and no time now to get anything that could compare to his gift. “I’ll show ya how t’wear it later.” Because Jazz wasn’t technically allowed to wear a crown until their bonding was official, and it would be showing  _ far  _ too much approval for Prowl to put hers on now.

Compass had already one-upped every single noble in Praxus.

Prowl set the tiara back in its box, delicately resting it on the protective cushion. Jazz followed her lead, placing her own back in the box, but she held onto it possessively, like a mythical dragon onto its favorite piece of its hoard. “You have exceeded yourself,” Prowl said with a subtle smile, the double meaning of her wording not lost on their audience any more than her approval was. “They are truly magnificent.”

“I’m honored you approve,” Compass said with the utmost sincerity and respect. He bowed deeply in addition to lowering his doors deferentially. “Now, if you would please excuse me,” he said, happy to take his victory and escape with it rather than pressing his luck, “I believe I should go rescue my bonded from your cat.”

As soon as his space was vacated, other courtiers filled it in, cawing and tittering about Compass’ audacity. Prowl let the gossip, both approving and disapproving, wash over her in a blur. Jazz cleaned up the wrapping foil, and Prowl couldn’t even bring herself to admonish her when she refused to hand the rubbish over to the servants.

It wasn’t until Jazz pressed another flute of energon into her hand (and kiss to her shoulder) that Prowl managed to pull herself fully out of her thoughts. And oh, how convenient; at some point she had managed to ditch the previous drink after all. This new one was a different mix, she observed with both relief and trepidation. It was as nice looking as the first, with a layer of dark red highgrade on the bottom, while the rest of the drink was a vivid crimson the same color as the Rust Sea.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to risk drinking it.

“Did ya get somethin’ more fer yerself?” she asked Jazz, stalling.

“Yep.” Jazz smiled, holding up her own, identical, drink. Then she stole another kiss. “Didja want some’a th’ _ treats,” _ the word was a bastardized Praxan word, probably lifted from the trade argot, “instead?”

Those, at least, she knew would be palatable. “Would, this time.” And next time she’d make sure she went with Jazz to avoid anymore mystery drinks!

“Kay,” Jazz took the drink and threw it back in a single gulp before going to retrieve a new plate for Prowl.

Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet, Prowl turned her attention back to the crowd around her. Caryatid was speculating on the kinds of shells used on the tiaras, being somewhat more oblique than the other nobles but still not hiding her interest in seeing them one more time. Prowl left the crown where it was though. She wasn’t prepared to see it again herself, and giving anyone the chance to make an even more detailed estimate of what it might have cost wouldn’t serve any purpose. She’d already done more than enough for Compass as it was, and while she was genuinely appreciative of the gift, there was a line between showing that appreciation and engaging in backhanded insults.

“Here,” Jazz returned with a bowl piled high with treats. No kelapa, but honestly after admitting they were her favorite in conversation earlier, Prowl hadn’t expected to see any more of them tonight. “Kiss?”

“‘Course.” Prowl gave her a quick kiss, obviously quicker than she’d been hoping for. “What’d ya bring me?”

Jazz pouted. She handed the plate to Prowl. “Gotcha these,” she poked a clear treat with wisps of blue in it, “an’ these,” white hexagonal treats. “An’ these. Think they’re oilcakes,” which they were, but probably far smaller and nicer than anything for sale in the public market that Jazz would be familiar with. She plucked one from the bowl. “Let m’feed ya?”

“Not now,” Prowl said, not really surprised she’d tried to feed her again even after being told no earlier. She reached out to take the treat from Jazz’s fingers. “But thank ya fer bringin’ ‘em over.”

Jazz kissed her, just a peck, then stepped away. She stayed close, and Silver stepped back into his place behind her to keep people at a distance and translate.

Prowl was in the middle of (gently) refusing to take out the tiara and show another noble per his (just as gentle) request, when she heard another voice ask the same question, point blank. She turned to admonish whoever it was for their bluntness when she realized the question hadn’t been directed at her, but to Jazz, and Silver had dutifully translated it.

Jazz’s armor puffed out proudly. Prowl had just enough time to see what was about to happen, but not enough to do anything about it.

“Sure!” Jazz picked up the box, which she had possessively kept her foot on and immediately opened it. Carefully — though not as carefully as a piece like that deserved — she lifted it up off of the cushioning and held it out so people could see as much as they wanted. “S’pretty, ain’t it? These’re spear-kahe shells,” she touched one of the long spiral shells that made up the points of the crown. “Nice one like this, Prax pay… dunno, maybe a nice glass fishing-float,” the glass spheres that were in such high demand by islanders and which required some skill to blow. “Or a small steel knife.” Bragging, she was definitely bragging again. “Pearl like these, just one’s worth a long-knife’r two, or a couple’a bolts’a sailcloth. S’pretty impressive, yeah? ‘Specially fer a Prax!”

Silver’s translation was a  _ little _ more diplomatic than her exact words would have been, but he couldn’t disguise the pride in Jazz’s voice, or the glee she was showing in the gift.

She didn’t know any better, Prowl reminded herself as she fought the urge to hide her face in her hands. Jazz probably didn’t know even half the implications of what she was doing, and her intentions certainly weren’t to cause trouble. “Ain’t supposed t’show ‘em off too much before we wear ‘em fer the first time,” she said, hoping to accomplish some measure of damage control. “That way they’re even more special when everybody sees ‘em at th’ _ wedding.” _

Jazz stopped and tilted her head at Prowl. “But y’said we were pleased with Compass’ gift, yeah?”

“Are, yeah,” Prowl answered, wondering where Jazz was going with this.

“Y’ _ said _ ‘e wanted everyone t’see how much we approved’a th’gift, an’ that we were gonna give ‘im that, yeah?”

“Ah.” Now she understood. “Did, an’ I meant it. Praxan approval’s just less,” effusive? Enthusiastic? Over-the-top in-your-face? “Loud,” she settled on, “than Polyhexian.”

Jazz deflated again. “Kay.”

Prowl felt bad about how often that was happening tonight. She wished she could have explained better, prepared Jazz better beforehand, so she didn’t have to keep correcting her. In fairness, there was no way for her to have known in advance everything they would have had to address; some of the things Jazz was doing, born out of the differences between their cultures, were things Prowl never would have even considered potential problems, and the rest… well, if she’d thought to explain tiaras to Jazz so soon, they probably would have had a different one waiting for her in the capital.

“S’okay — yer not Praxan, so y’can get away with bein’ a little different.” And she could, really. Being (justly) proud of her tiara was hardly the end of the world. Being indifferent would have been a much worse faux pas. Prowl smiled at her. “I like that yer different.”

Jazz tilted her head, giving Prowl a coy look. She looked, if anything, even  _ more _ miserable and Prowl felt even worse… at least until, “Kiss?” she asked, with the most overblown, mock-dejected look ever.

The tension that had been building inside her broke, bubbling up as laughter. “Yer adorable,” Prowl said between only partially stifled giggles, love suffusing her EM field.

Jazz grinned, cheerful again. “So do I git a kiss?”

“Yeah. Yeah ya do.”

Very carefully, her lover put the crown away (and stepped on the box so no one could touch it) and reached out to pull Prowl to her by the hand. Prowl felt her helm captured in a gentle grip on the back of her neck just before Jazz leaned in and brushed her lips against hers.

When Prowl didn’t step back or protest, she deepened the kiss with a humm of satisfied pleasure.

No one was talking about the tiara now.

. 

.

.

Compared to the relatively minor incidents early on, the rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. Jazz continued to be much more physically affectionate than a Praxan mate would have been, but while she kept angling for kisses and asked twice more if she could feed Prowl (the answer was no both times), she kept her hands away from doorwings, chevron, and sensitive seams. Prowl had gotten so used to having to brush teasing fingers away from her chest seam that not doing so for an entire evening was decidedly odd, but also kind of nice.

Prowl adored Jazz to the very core of her spark, but she didn’t have nearly the same drive to interface as the Polyhexian femme. Jazz always respected when she said no, but she also made sexual overtures very, very often. It was relaxing, in a way, not having to turn her down every time she turned around.

Less relaxing was worrying every time Jazz was about to say something, but as the party wore on and everyone became more accustomed to Jazz’s bold, unconventional personality — and became more intoxicated from the highgrade at the buffet — those worries diminished. Except for Sentinel and his clique, everyone seemed to have adopted an open mindset, letting things that would normally have been offensive roll right off their plating. Their willingness to learn instead of judge gave Prowl hope, even if the attitude wasn’t universal.

It helped too that Silver, and later Shadow, each did an excellent job of facilitating conversation for Jazz. For a dry run with essentially no preparation, Prowl was impressed with both of them for how they rose to the challenge. She was perfectly happy to tell Ultra Magnus she was satisfied with their services at the end of the night, though she mentioned to them before the party broke up completely that there were a few little details she wanted to go over later. Just as Smokescreen had found himself doing with Ricochet and Arcee, Shadow and Silver were going to have to do more than translate directly — they were going to have to exercise a degree of diplomacy, and they needed to address what they should, and shouldn’t, edit in the process.

They had the entire journey back to the capital to handle such things, however. For now, it was time to head back to her room to rest and unwind. After collecting a protesting Sundance from Compass’s bondmate one last time, Prowl offered her arm to Jazz. “Shall we?”

Jazz’s nasal ridge wrinkled expressively, but she hooked her armored arm through Prowl’s once again to escort her from the ballroom. Through the gauntlet of farewells, they escaped out to the relative peace of the hall. Since they weren’t leaving by carriage, they were alone; as the hosts, Ultra Magnus and Sentinel both had to stay until the last guest left.

This time, when Jazz tried to look at all the things, Prowl released her arm to let her bondmate do so and watched with a tired smile. She really was good at climbing, though as promised, she didn’t climb anything that would be shredded by her claws.

Prowl supposed she was venting now. The dinner party had been a lot more sedate than the wild trade season parties that were her only experience with Polyhexian celebrations; nothing like what Jazz was used to, in other words. Prowl could sympathize, but she herself was more tired than restless.

“Yer goin’ back t’th’kattumaram again tonight, right?” she asked once they reached her berthroom, essentially just to confirm what she already knew. Sundance had already leapt down from her shoulder and zipped under the berth, intent on whatever she’d seen there earlier. “Gonna stay a bit first?”

Jazz’s arms wrapped around her, stroking her doors. “Will,” she said seductively, kissing along Prowl’s jaw.

The touches felt nice, but Prowl didn’t have the energy for them to spark arousal. “Think ‘m too tired fer ‘facin’,” she admitted, but still leaned into Jazz’s arms. “But I like ya holdin’ me.”

With a purr, Jazz’s touch shifted to something more deliberate, firmer, and less arousing. It was so relaxing, a different kind of heat blooming from her lover’s hands. Prowl melted further into the embrace.

Then, with a grin, Jazz suddenly scooped her up in her arms.

“Ah! What’re ya doing?” Prowl did  _ not  _ squeak, though after the initial surprise she didn’t feel at all like she was going to fall. Jazz’s hold was secure, and Prowl relaxed again. “Y’startled me.”

“Sorry,” Jazz said, less than perfectly sincerely. “Want me t’stop?”

Prowl nuzzled into Jazz’s plating, not interested in going anywhere. “Nope.”

She saw her lover’s expression as she obviously considered, then discarded, the idea of dumping Prowl into an undignified heap on the berth. Instead Jazz set her down gently, climbing on top of her and straddling her hips in the same movement. She was about to remind her mate that she was too tired to frag — that hadn’t changed — but before she could, Jazz gave her a quick kiss and scooted back, shifting herself off Prowl so she could pick up her foot.

Gentle fingers traced the seams briefly, then found the spot they were looking for and squeezed. Prowl hissed at the first flare of pain, but then melted into the liquid relaxation that followed. “Massage’s good,” she purred happily, remembering just how good Jazz was at it. “Hmmm…”

“Yer so beautiful,” Jazz murmured back. “I like seein’ y’like this.”

“Really? Y’like seein’ me too tired’n comfortable t’ever wanna move again?” Prowl teased.

“Sure,” Jazz said, right as she straightened Prowl’s leg and pushed on the tarsal armor in her hand, pulling on her heel at the same time, stretching every joint and cable in Prowl’s leg until she hissed again. She held it there, then released. The release felt soooo good though, and Jazz followed it up with soothing rubbing and squeezing that finished turning Prowl into a puddle. “‘Cuz yer tired’n comfortable’n in my arms. An’ if y’never move, then y’will never be anywhere else.”

Aww… Prowl smiled, feeling warm and tender in a way that had nothing to do with her frame. For all her bluntness and bragging, Jazz could also say the most beautiful things with such sincerity it never failed to awe her. “Love ya,” she whispered. “Love ya so much.”

“Love ya,” Jazz returned easily. Satisfied that Prowl’s leg and foot were so tinglingly relaxed she wasn’t going to be  _ able _ to move it for a while, she moved onto the other, repeating her ministrations. She smiled, humming in pleasure at just  _ touching… _ “Gonna have’ta teach y’a bit’a this b’fore we leave fer th’islands,” her words took a sharp turn back to the pragmatic. “S’always nice t’have someone do it fer ya, ‘course, but gotta be able t’do a bit on yer own.”

“Kay.” Prowl didn’t have a problem with that, though she was more interested in learning so she could return the favor for Jazz. “Probly shouldn’t feel this way, but part’a me wants t’just leave fer th’islands tomorrow instead’a headin’ ta Praxus.”

Jazz hummed, consideringly. “Prolly shouldn’t without Ricochet,” she said, which both did and didn’t help Prowl’s desire to do it. “Y’don’t know enough about sailin’ t’help durin’ a storm.”

“Yet.” She didn’t know enough yet, though she did know that the storm season wasn’t the best time to try learning. That was why they were timing her visit to Polyhex to start with the harvest season, so she could learn with the newlings. “Ain’t so much that I wanna go sailin’ in th’storms anyway,” she said, still a little frightened of them after all Jazz’s stories. “I just don’t wanna deal with th’ _ wedding _ an’ everything leadin’ up to it.” She gave Jazz a crooked grin. “Y’did great, but it’s gonna be harder in th’capital than it was tonight.”

“I told ya: I will do all th’things,” Jazz asserted again, as she laid Prowl’s now utterly limp leg down on the bed. “Yer m’mate; I’ll do whatever I need ta. Can y’roll over?”

Prowl made an aborted attempt to move, then fell back into the blankets. “No.”

With a chuckle, Jazz gently rolled her over, being careful not to catch or squish her doorwing. She climbed back on top of Prowl, straddling her hips and started rubbing and squeezing her doors. Prowl tried not to brace herself for the sharp pain, because she knew that always made it hurt more, and didn’t entirely succeed. Jazz  _ tut-tutted _ and rubbed soothing circles on her plating until Prowl wasn’t expecting it anymore,  _ then _ pressed on the tension-spot that sent pain shooting along her back… quickly replaced by the warmth of that tension releasing.

“Is one good thing ‘bout all this,” Prowl mumbled into the pillows.

“Hmmm?” Jazz gently pulled on her doors until  _ they _ hit the point of near-painful stretch, held them there for a klik, then released them, rubbing them until Prowl couldn’t move them if she tried.

“Yer gonna be so pretty wearin’ that tiara.”

“Am!” No false modesty there. Prowl chuckled as Jazz moved on to her shoulders and arms. That natural, easy confidence was as admirable as it could be frustrating.

By the time Jazz reached her neck, sleep was swiftly shutting down Prowl’s ability to think. “Y’gon’climb out th’window’gain?” she asked, the words slurring together even more than Polyhexian usually did.

“Sure,” Jazz said. “Ain’t really that far a climb’n th’inside’a yer cave’s all twisty. I’ll stay ‘till yer asleep, though, if y’want. Ain’t gonna take too much longer, looks like,” she teased.

“Ain’t,” Prowl agreed, because wasn’t that the truth. She’d meant for them to talk more about how the dinner had gone and the other upcoming events in their future, but… they’d acknowledged a need to talk, and that was enough. The talking itself could come later. “Jus’say g’bye t’th’guard so ‘e knows yer leavin’n I don’git another apology fer breakfast.”

“Dunno why there’s a mech watchin’ th’cave,” Jazz shrugged, moving down to Prowl’s hand and fingers. “I ain’t gonna draw on th’walls. But sure.”

“‘E’s there t’keep people from sneakin’ in’n doin’ bad stuff t’us, not th’walls.” Her fingers twitched toward Jazz as a flicker of amusement broke through her exhaustion. “Supposed t’keep people like ya from kidnappin’ people like me’n changin’ their lives forever.”

Jazz snorted. She finished up and laid down next to Prowl, wrapping her arms around her. “Prolly good enough fer most, but I,” she pressed a kiss to Prowl’s shoulder, “am th’best.”

“Are.” Warm and relaxed and safe and  _ loved,  _ Prowl let her optics shut off. “Yer th’best thing that ever happened t’me.”

“An’ I’m so glad I found ya, so glad I took th’chance.” Jazz kissed her again. “Even glad now I let ya go. Y’came back t’me, made me th’happiest femme…”

Prowl’s only answer was a contented, sleeping purr.

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	4. Chapter 4

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She hadn’t done much in the way of unpacking, knowing the moment Jazz had greeted her on the road that she wouldn’t be staying in Hightower more than a cycle or two. Prowl was ready to go right after breakfast, as soon as she got Sundance to actually  _ eat _ the glitchmouse she’d caught instead of packing it in her things for later, though her borrowed valet didn’t let her escape without a cloak to keep off the rain — which had decided to start up again. Her guards, fresh from the previous cycle’s leave, were ready before she was, even if more than one of them were still nursing hangovers.

Packing Jazz’s things was the hitch. Everything left on the kattumaram, except a few items she said Ricochet would maybe need, like the shared sleeping pad, the nijan traps, and a few bags of fuel, had to come off the boat, and it was far too much for her to carry! And it turned out to be too much to load on the carriage either. She had food for her and Prowl for the entire season packed up with her things! Not to mention the things she’d brought back for Prowl that she wouldn’t need until they left for the islands.

With far more decorum than Jazz and Ricochet showed when arguing, she convinced Jazz that the things they wouldn’t need until they came back this way could be left with “her kin” Ultra Magnus. Like her kopapa, and other things that must be extra bedding and camping gear. Jazz was mostly fine with that, once assured that Prowl’s clan would be willing to provide places to sleep, but the food became a point of contention: she needed to  _ bring _ food to Prowl’s clan! It was bad (some combination of unmentionably rude, and an inconceivable admission of weakness) not to bring fuel to a celebration, or when visiting another clan.

Even if Jazz impoverished herself to bring everything on the kattumaram, she couldn’t hope to make a meaningful contribution to the number of mechs at the gatherings in Praxus. And Prowl was not unaware they would need fuel to make it back to the islands. Leveraging those arguments, they finally managed to compromise: Jazz left enough fuel for them to make it back to Polyhex with Ultra Magnus, and they packed the carriage with the rest until it felt quite crowded with the two of them. The kelapa came, of course, including several Jazz hadn’t included in her gift just to Prowl. Other things Prowl didn’t have words for were packed into ovoid shells, sacks and boxes.

One ovoid, the hollowed out shell of a kelapa, with the outer fibers removed, painted, then waxed, Jazz was especially protective of, insisting it was for the wedding. She literally hissed every time someone even threatened to touch the shell. That made Prowl curious, but though Jazz repeated the word — ka meli — and tried to explain what it was, Prowl didn’t understand the explanation very well. Just that it was energon, very rare, and  _ never _ sold in Hightower.

“All I can smell is wax,” Sundance reported, though she’d only given it a sniff from a distance before looking for a spot to curl up where Jazz wouldn’t hiss at her. “Boring.”

“Mmhmm.” Of course it was boring. If she wasn’t going to be allowed to play with it, then it had to be boring. Prowl shifted a few of her things to make room for her cat among her books. “There’ll be interesting stuff to play with later,” she said. Like all the fishing gear that was staying in Hightower. Sundance hadn’t outgrown her love of the feathery lures.

Jazz was outside the carriage again, checking the ropes lashing everything into place on the back. Prowl leaned out the window to call her. “Y’ready yet? Th’knots don’t have’ta hold up t’storms at sea y’know. Carriage ain’t gonna go faster’n a mech can drive.”

The islander gave it one more critical once-over. “It’ll hold,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Then come back in ‘ere with me,” Prowl said, holding out her hand, “so we can git goin’.”

Jazz’s plating was cool and damp as she obeyed. She wiggled into Prowl’s arms and purred. “Yer warm.”

Outside, seeing that things had been settled, the guards mounted their zap ponies. Shadow mounted his own with ease, while Silver had some trouble and eventually had to be helped into the saddle. He clung to the mechanimal’s back like he was going to fall at any klik. Prowl wondered what his background was; their conversation last night had gotten derailed before he’d had a chance to tell them.

The other guards would have an easy target for their ghost stories on the road, if this was his first time outside Hightower.

Prowl took a moment to just cuddle with Jazz as they got underway, trying to organize her thoughts. There were a lot of things they needed to prepare for, and the journey was likely to be one of their better opportunities to do so. The question was, where to begin?

“So we’re just gonna ride this thing th’whole way?” Jazz asked, craning her head to look out the window without moving out of Prowl’s arms. “‘Cuz yer a priest-mage? Should I be out there?”

“We don’t have t’be in here th’whole time, no. I drove part’a th’way here instead’a riding.” Prowl fully expected Jazz would want to do the same, and for the same reasons she had: being active. “But we need t’spend some time in here cuz there’s things we need t’talk about that drivin’d make difficult.”

“Kay.”

“Should probly start on those things soon,” Prowl said, coming to a decision. “There ain’t enough time fer ya t’learn it all, but yer gonna need t’know at least some Praxan.”

“Will!” Jazz agreed enthusiastically. “I know a lil-bit. Not much, though. But I wanna be able t’talk t’ya in yer own words too.”

That would be a nice perk. Prowl smiled and hugged her mate closer. “I’m lookin’ forward t’that. ‘S’another reason though, an’ that’s bein’ able t’say things at th’ceremony.” Technically she could probably learn her lines by rote without understanding them, since they were ritual and didn’t require coming up with words on the spot, but it would be better if she did understand them. Plus, “There’s also th’ _ contract  _ yer gonna need t’be able t’go over.” Which would also involve being able to write enough to sign her name, and ideally read some of the contract for herself as well.

_ “Con~trak~tuh,” _ Jazz repeated the word dutifully. “What’s that?”

“A  _ contract,”  _ Prowl enunciated clearly, “is…” Hard to describe, when Jazz hadn’t understood what a book was. “When two people each agree they’re gonna do somethin’, like I’ll give ya weapons if y’promise y’won’t use ‘em t’attack me, they make a contract so everyone knows what they agreed.”

“If yer givin’ m’weapons, it’s ‘cuz I bought ‘em, or yer one’a m’clan,” Jazz pointed out. “Fer th’first, I might use ‘em t’attack ya, but I paid fer ‘em, can do whatever I want. Fer th’second, th’weapons’re still mine an’ I can do what I want, but yer m’own clan an’ I ain’t stupid enough t’attack m’own clan without reason.”

“A contract is how Praxans do things like they were clan without actually bein’ clan. Y’gotta have a good reason t’break a contract just like y’gotta have a good reason t’attack yer own clan.”

“Makes sense. We’re bonded; y’ain’t givin’ m’weapons.”

“No‘m not.” The king just wanted Jazz to give them weapons, or to stop using the ones she already had against Praxan ships. “But that’s just it: we’re bonded, an’ in Praxus, makin’ a contract is part’a takin’ a mate.” In many cases, it was the entire reason for taking a mate at all — especially among the nobility. “An’ because I’m a princess, the promises in th’contract ain’t just fer us.”

Jazz’s expression clearly indicated she didn’t understand. “I said I’d do all th’things,” she finally said firmly, “so I’ll do the  _ con-trak-tuh _ thing too.”

She’d do it, but she didn’t understand it. Prowl was gripped by the sudden worry that Jazz wouldn’t honor it… or she’d agree to something she didn’t have the authority to promise. Not everyone in Praxus was literate, but soldiers were. Most didn’t start as officers and were prepared for everything that might be expected of them — including logistics and report writing. Granted, some of the reports by those who considered themselves career grunts basically were, “I came, I saw, I totally kicked aft!” but they could  _ write _ them themselves.

Jazz, though, wasn’t even literate in her own written language. She made up stories based on the shape and flow and enthusiasm of the marks. They were sometimes beautiful stories and occasionally Prowl envied her, but it wasn’t reading. Reading and writing was, according to the explanations Jazz had given her, a privilege of the priest-mages. It’d be sooo easy to trick her into signing something she couldn’t agree to…

“Don’t agree t’th’contract until y’know what it says,” Prowl said seriously. “Everyone in Praxus’ll expect ya t’keep th’promises on it, and they’ll treat ya badly if ya don’t. Even in Hightower.” The wedding might be taking place in the capital, but Ultra Magnus would have his copy of the new agreement on his desk just as soon as the ink was dry and a courier delivered it. There wouldn’t be any escaping the consequences short of leaving the mainland entirely.

“Dunno what I can promise.” Jazz snuggled into Prowl, stroking her. She sensed Prowl’s worry, but she didn’t know the cause, so she tried to soothe her with gentle touches and a firm embrace. “We’re already bonded. Gonna love ya an’ teach ya… I’ll starve b’fore ya.” She smiled, bright and cheerful at Prowl before nuzzling her neck. “Can promise that.”

“Don’t doubt that fer a sparkbeat. Never have.” Even when Jazz had first kidnapped her, Prowl had believed she would do everything she could to provide for and protect her, and that hadn’t changed. If those kinds of promises were all that was required, there wouldn’t be a problem. But of course, they weren’t. “There’s gonna be a lotta negotiatin’ before th’contract’s ready.” Negotiations that Prowl was going to insist on being present for, even though they had Shadow and Silver to lean on for translation. This would be nothing like the legal monolith involved in her (nullified) engagement to Arcee, since Jazz was a military leader, not a political power unto herself, and therefore couldn’t make promises on the same scale as the heir to the Iaconi Primacy, but Prowl had no doubt that there were parties who would see the contract as an opportunity to squeeze as much as they could out of what they viewed as a bad deal. “We’ll figure out all th’promises when that happens. But th’more Praxan ya know, th’easier it’ll be.”

“I trust ya.”

She did, she really did, and that’s why Prowl had to be careful and not let anyone take advantage of her bondmate! “So,” she asked, determined to do her best by Jazz to prepare her for the trials ahead, “what Praxan d’ya already know?”

In response, Jazz let out a string of profanity that blistered the walls of the carriage.

Prowl sat in stunned silence for a moment… and then burst out laughing. “W-where’d ya learn t’talk like  _ that?”  _ she gasped out between giggles, imagining Jazz going off at one of the nobles at court with that language. It would almost be worth the repercussions just for the look on Mirage’s face… “Please tell me that ain’t all ya know how ta say.”

Jazz shrugged, pleased to have made Prowl laugh. “Wha’sa matter?” she asked innocently. “S’what I hear th’boat guards’n sailors sayin’ all th’time. That’n  _ ‘fire’.” _

“Guess y’would at that.” Prowl had been assuming her primary exposure to Praxan was the market in Hightower, but there the trade argot was used to conduct business and the parties — the kind Jazz would have been at — were predominantly Polyhexian. At sea, attacking Praxan ships, on the other hand, knowing what the enemy was saying in their own language was probably pretty useful. “Basically then, ya know a whole lotta words y’shouldn’t ever say when we git t’th’capital.”

“Didn’t figure they was nice things,” Jazz drawled.  _ “Danger. Are we safe? We’re surrounded. Enemies off the port. Attack, you idiots. Don’t just stand there. Hold them off or we’re dead.” _ She listed off a few more phrases, basically confirming what Prowl already knew.

“Yeah, maybe don’t say those things.” Even if a few of those phrases, like “danger” and “we’re surrounded”, might apply just as well to certain political situations as they did to naval battles. That was what Jazz really needed a working vocabulary in: politics. “I brought some stuff I thought we could start with,” she said, reaching over to the books she’d brought to retrieve an illustrated storybook, pushing Jazz off of her so they could both look at it more easily. It featured a simplified narrative and lots of pictures, since it was designed to help newlings learn to read, but Prowl had chosen it as much for that as for the story it told about a Praxan prince taking a tour of the castle to say good morning to everyone.

“One’a yer spells?” Jazz examined it eagerly. Prowl saw her gaze skip past the text to the picture of the prince. Grey with red accents, the image superficially resembled King Bluestreak. Once she’d finished taking in the picture, Jazz looked down at the words. There was only a short line of glyphs and Jazz correctly started on the left. “S’a hero, a merchant who fell in love with a priest-mage…” Jazz paused, puzzling it out. And no wonder, these plain, simple glyphs didn’t have the swirls and flourishes she had been able to weave into a tale like the glyphs on Compass’ gift wrapping.

“‘S a lot simpler’n that,” Prowl said, pointing to each word as she read, then at the corresponding part of the image:  _ “The sun is up. It is a new cycle in the castle. Good morning, Young Prince.”  _ She repeated the sentence in Polyhexian, using the trade argot word for castle while explaining that prince meant a future-chief like her, who was a mech instead of a femme. “It’s just th’beginnin’ of a story, not th’whole thing.”

“Don’t need a spell t’say th’sun comes up,” Jazz said. Still, she seemed interested. She pointed at the picture, at the sun. “Sun.” She waited expectantly.

“Yes.” That word she was sure Jazz knew also; yes, no, and hello. “Ain’t a spell about th’sun comin’ up, it just tells ya that it did.”

“Newlin’s figure out th’sun comes up only a couple’a sunrises after they’re harvested though. Why y’gotta put it in a spell? Young Prince,” she said the Praxan word, pointing to the central figure of the picture.

“Yes. An’ it’s there because it’s tellin’ a story like it really happened. Like if I was tellin’ ya what happened yesterday. Wouldn’t say th’sun came up cuz’a th’weather, probly, but I’d’ve said ‘it was rainin’.”

“Kay.”

Since the story started inside the castle, there wasn’t a picture of the exterior. Prowl kind of hoped Jazz would make the connection and point to the  _ word _ but she didn’t. Backtracking, Prowl pointed to the word for sun. “This means sun, same as th’picture does. Even if there’s no picture, that’s how y’know th’sun is part’a th’story. Just like this,” she pointed to the word for castle, “means castle. This same shape, anywhere else, always means castle.”

“Kay.”

Sentence by sentence, they worked their way through the story as the prince said hello to the guards, the gardeners, the courtiers, his tutor, and finally the king. Jazz continued to struggle with the concept of writing. While she remembered the Praxan words themselves, she didn’t seem to be internalizing the idea that the glyphs used to write them weren’t interpretive in any sense whatsoever. This, frustratingly, wasn’t immediately apparent since she was able to point to and discuss elements of the pictures perfectly well. Prowl kept trying to find different ways to explain it, but even  _ more  _ frustratingly, Jazz had a habit of saying “kay” to just about everything she said, whether she understood it or not.

Maybe Prowl was the one who needed a new translation, and should consider “kay” to mean “I heard you” and nothing more.

Honestly, she was a little relieved when, after the zap ponies had a short rest, Jazz wanted to run around and explore and drive for herself for a little bit.

Prowl drove alongside the carriage while Jazz zipped back and forth, in and out of the forest. That made the soldiers nervous, but Prowl told them to let her. She was sure Jazz could handle whatever she came across.

Maybe she needed to admit that she would have to wait a few days to teach Jazz to read. Once she had a few more nouns and verbs, and started putting sentences together in spoken Praxan, she could start on the very basics of reading. Sounds and glyph-parts.

It was frustrating because Prowl remembered only spending a cycle or so on sounds before starting to put together words, and Jazz was NOT unintelligent! She should be able to do this! Except she obviously couldn’t, and Prowl had to take a step back to take things slower. Good thing she had a blank book and an inkpen with her. She hadn’t thought to bring a sound/glyph-parts workbook. It seemed like an unforgivable oversight now, but fortunately she could make her own. Meanwhile, there was no reason not to keep reading the stories to Jazz. She was learning the spoken language with them, and they could come back to them when she had a better foundation. And she enjoyed reading with Jazz.

Even if she was getting really tired of hearing the word “kay”.

After only a single cycle working on her language skills — and not even a full cycle at that — Jazz couldn’t understand very much of the conversation around the campfire on her own. She was listening attentively though, and engaging in a similar method of language learning to what she and Prowl had done with Polyhexian; namely, pointing at things and asking whoever was closest what they were called. She learned a lot of new words that way, since she insisted on helping set up the camp. Prowl left her to it, not wanting to be in the way when there were plenty of other skilled hands willing to do the work.

Very skilled hands, as it turned out. Shadow, before starting his career as a guardsmech in the warehouses of Hightower, had apparently been a caravan guard. He was completely comfortable and familiar with what needed to be done, and integrated himself into the chore roster effortlessly.

Silver, meanwhile, stayed close to the fire, anxiously looking out into the woods at every little sound beyond the bounds of their campsite. The rain had finally stopped, but had left the ground soggy and the dripping echoed through the crystals.

“This is your first time outside of Hightower, isn’t it?” Prowl asked, sitting down beside him. Out of the corner of her optic, she saw Jazz disappear into the crystal trees without a lantern. Knowing she didn’t need more than starlight to see by, and that one of her magics was that she couldn’t get lost, Prowl didn’t worry.

“Yes, Imperial Princess.” Something made a chirp and he fearfully tried to find the source — an impossible task with his optics set for the light of the fire, even if that particular chirp weren’t made by an extremely tiny mechanimal to begin with.

“It is very different out here, isn’t it? But it’s alright.” He probably wouldn’t sleep well tonight no matter what she said, but it was worth a try. “You aren’t alone, and this is a very safe road. Most of the things you hear are very small — small enough to fit in your hand.”

“Orrmahmouff,” came a muffled meow at her feet. Prowl looked down and saw Sundance sitting proudly with a big, fat cricket between her teeth. “Ffee?”

“I do see. You’re such a good hunter,” Prowl praised her, stroking a hand over her ears. “See?” she said to Silver. “Many of them are like this.”

Silver looked at the tiny hexbug, examined the legs and feelers, and shuddered. “But they’re  _ loud.” _

“Yes. I’ve read two theories about why they have such disproportionate calls,” Prowl said, unable to recall which applied to crickets. “One says that they are loud so they can hear where others are and find each other in the dark, and another suggests they use the sound to warn things off from attacking them.” Obviously the latter didn’t work very well on cybercats.

“That’s interesting, Imperial Princess.”

“Hey newbie,” one of the guards called as he dropped down to sit at the fire with them. “What did you do before this?”

“I’m an inventory manager for the Wavegations shipping group,” he answered. “I audit warehouse records of inventory.”

“How did you come to take an interest in Polyhexian language at a job like that?” Prowl asked, curious. “Or did you begin learning it socially?”

“No one learns Polyhexian for their job,” he said with a mixture of shyness and resentment. “I just…” he shrugged. “It’s the only time of vorn I get much of a break, and  _ it’s the trade season _ is a legitimate reason to come to work hungover.”

A couple of the guards laughed at that, tossing in their agreements. “It’s the best time of the vorn to travel to Hightower, that’s for sure,” one of them said. “Almost like one continuous party that never stops. It only quiets down for the day before roaring back to life.”

“And of course, it is more enjoyable when you’re able to communicate at least a little bit with the others at the party,” Prowl nodded, knowing full well that the language learned for those purposes was about on par with what Jazz had learned in ship raids as far as actual, polite conversation went. “But you’ve progressed considerably beyond the point where most stop.”

“It’s silly, Imperial Princess. I guess you could say I learned to prove a point.” He looked down at the ground. “I thought we should start stationing someone fluent on ships heading out, to try and negotiate in the event of an attack. I can’t say I’ve had much call to use it until now though.” His doors started to droop, but then twitched up nervously at the next too-loud hexbug call.

He probably wouldn’t have been very comfortable on a ship if he was having so much trouble here, Prowl thought, but she kept it to herself.

“If we’re talking about silly reasons to learn a language, mine wasn’t much better,” Shadow said, joining the growing group by the fire. Now more than ever Prowl was struck by the irony of their names and coloration as the flickering light sparkled over Shadow’s bright silver paint, while Silver’s blacks made him blend into the shadows. “In fact, it was probably worse. You at least had a goal in mind. I just like studying languages.”

“Neither of those are silly,” Prowl said, able to relate to both after a fashion. Considering her own reasons for initially studying Polyhexian, she wasn’t in a position to judge. “Sometimes a small, personal reason is all that’s necessary.”

“Thank you, Imperial Princess.” Silver might have said more, but a few more soldiers came and gathered around the fire, dropping down heavily with expressions of relief. Prowl saw there were two still standing, outside the ring of light made by the fire — the first watch.

“Is it time for food yet?” one asked plaintively.

“Up for a ghost story, newbie?” another — the same guard that had told Prowl the first such tale she’d heard this trip — asked with glee.

“Um… no?”

That made the whole circle of mechs laugh.

“Whatever you all chose to do, I will wait for Jazz to come back before dinner,” Prowl announced, wondering how much longer she was going to be out in the forest. It was hard to predict how quickly any given hunt would be successful.

Despite Silver’s protests, the guards launched into telling ghost stories. They apparently decided to wait on dinner too, though, because while the cycle’s ration was pulled out, none of it was distributed yet.

Prowl felt a burst of glee from her connection with Jazz just a short time later. She must not have wandered too far in her hunt; their bond was not yet strong enough to carry anything less intense than overload or terror very far. Still, the fact that she was feeling Jazz’s emotions at all after only a single season bonded, a season they hadn’t even spent entirely together, was a sign of its strength. Soon they’d be able to feel strong emotions — like glee — as long as they were in the same city, and feel the strongest ones when even further apart.

Bonds strong enough to span the sea were the stuff of legends. Even Jazz and Ricochet’s twin bond could only carry the other’s overload for about half a cycle’s sail.

Expecting her triumphant return, Prowl didn’t jump when Jazz appeared at the edge of the road like a ghost. Even with the glowing paint, she’d stayed hidden until stepping into the open… at a particularly inopportune moment. The current story having just reached the point where the ghost finally showed itself, Silver saw Jazz simply  _ appear _ and let out a startled screech. He wasn’t alone; some of the soldiers gasped, cursed, or otherwise reacted as well.

“They were tellin’ scary stories,” Prowl explained at Jazz’s perplexed look, smiling at their reactions. “Thought y’were a ghost.”

“We’re all ghosts,” Jazz returned with an answering smile. “Some sparks visit fer a bit b’fore leavin’ t’become stars. Brought fuel!” She held out a square of painted sailcloth that had been folded and knotted into a bag with a handle. “Thought it’d take longer t’find enough fer everyone, but got lucky!”

“I know,” Prowl said. “I could feel it.”

That yanked Jazz out of her preening. “Did? That’s great!” She bounded over to Prowl and practically pounced on her to give her a kiss.

“Did!” Prowl said excitedly, then became thoroughly wrapped up in the kiss. Off to the side, she could hear Shadow repeating her explanation of kissing from last night to Trailfire and the other guards, which was good of him. The guards had seen her kissing Jazz before and probably had been wondering about it.

She didn’t let it go beyond the kiss, however. “Bond can’t tell me what ya found though,” she said, gently pushing Jazz back so they could talk. “So? What’d ya git?”

Bouncing excitedly as she sat and pulled the makeshift bag over to them, she carefully unknotted it. Something fluttery and quick escaped and Jazz deftly caught in midair before presenting the moth to Prowl. “Lemme feed ya?”

Prowl was too busy staring at the bag of squirming, crawling, skittering hexbugs wrapped up in the cloth to answer. Fireflies blinked their glass abdomens, crickets got tangled up in the folds while they tried to hop away, and others she couldn’t name just writhed around.

Jazz threw a fold of steelcloth over the bugs before another moth could escape. “Prowl?”

“Those’re— y’can—” Prowl was having trouble pulling together a complete sentence between all her questions and the answers that were popping up on their own. Of course those were hexbugs, and of course they were edible. She already knew Jazz hunted small mechanimals for sustenance the same as large ones, and she wouldn’t have brought them back to feed her if they weren’t safe to consume. Still… “Really?”

Jazz tilted her head. “Could oxidize ‘em fer ya,” she offered in a tone of voice that indicated she thought the practice silly.

Apparently really.

“Does that make ‘em taste better?” Prowl asked, though she wasn’t worried so much about the taste as she was about them moving in her mouth. Midye and remis didn’t have little legs to wave around!

Jazz shrugged. “Some say it does, an’ it does make ‘em travel better. Suppose th’shells taste better oxidized, but it can make ‘em pop, scorchin’r outright wastin’ th’energon inside. Can do it though, if y’like.” She withdrew the moth and popped it in her own mouth. Then she got up and retrieved one of the shovels the soldiers had used to dig a rain channel in the soggy ground so that any rain during the night wouldn’t flood their tents.

“What is she doing with that?” one of the guards asked, watching her and the bag of bugs like one, the other, or both might leap at him.

“She said she brought fuel,” Shadow said, though he sounded too confused himself for it to be a real answer. Either he’d missed seeing her eat the moth, or wasn’t connecting what that meant for them.

“Mechanimals contain energon in their lines, and some small ones may be consumed whole for that fuel and the elements that make up their frames,” Prowl told them, wondering what sort of reactions she was about to get. “She brought them back for us to eat.”

“Ewww,” Silver shuddered theatrically. “That’s disgusting.”

Several of the guards nodded in agreement while Jazz set the wide metal plate that made up the spade of the shovel on the fire to heat, then went to retrieve something from the foodstuffs secured to the carriage. She returned with two small ovoids, which Prowl knew to be the hollowed out development capsules of glitchmice, which were emptied and drunk, then saved to store other things in later.

“You do not have to eat them,” Prowl told the guards, “though anyone who wishes to try is more than welcome.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Sundance mewed from beside the bag. “They’re tasty!” Her tail was lashing back and forth eagerly, and Prowl decided to stop her before she pounced on the bag and accidentally (or perhaps deliberately) set everything loose.

“I’m sure they are,” she said as she scooped up her cat, “but not everyone likes the same things, and that’s fine.” Hoping a bit of levity would help the guards past the initial shock of the idea, Prowl turned to them and said, “Lady Sundance is more than willing to claim anyone’s share so she can roll around being lazy instead of hunting them down for herself.”

Trailfire guffawed. “Can’t have that.” He didn’t look enthusiastic, but, “Everyone can try at least one,” he suggested. A thinly veiled order.

Humming, Jazz pulled the plug from one of the capsules and a thin stream of liquid flowed into the shovel, where it sizzled and popped on the hot metal. She shifted the shovel to coat the surface evenly until the oil — Prowl saw that now, and could smell the hot oil as it sizzled — turned shimmery. Then out of the knotted bag came a handful of the bugs. Another moth escaped and this time Jazz ignored it. The tiny mechanimals hit the shovel with series of loud hisses and pops. Soon the smell of oxidized metal and hot energon joined the scent of heated oil. The shells turned from a mixture of greys and browns to the dark black and browns of the oxides.

One of the bugs popped open, exploding and sending a few guards, who had leaned in to watch, jumping backwards in surprise. The energon scorched, burning instantly, adding to the kaleidoscope of scents.

Prowl wondered if this was how confectioners experienced their fuel: as an inescapable, fully  _ sensory _ experience.

Still humming, Jazz moved the shovel, shuffling the hexbugs around until they were completely coated in oil. She shook the contents of the other ovoid, a powder of some sort, over them and gave the shovel one more toss to coat everything in it, then pulled out another square of sailcloth and poured the — now thankfully  _ dead _ — hexbugs out onto it.

“Better?” she asked, setting the shovel back in the fire — probably to heat the rest of the bugs once Prowl gave her approval.

“Better,” Prowl agreed. Now that they weren’t moving, they didn’t seem intimidating anymore. Not to her, anyway. She reached out and, mindful that they were hot, carefully picked up a toasted cricket. “What’s th’powder?” Combined with the oil it had created a crumbly, crunchy looking, tan coating.

“Hinamona crystal, kelapa’n lada seed crystals’n powdered chuno,” Jazz listed off, not that the words meant much. Prowl didn’t know what the crystals were, except the kelapa, or what chuno was.

Intrigued, Prowl went ahead and popped the thing whole in her mouth. Knowing there was kelapa in the coating she’d wondered if it would be sweet, and it was. Sort of. It was somewhere between sweet and spicy, and the flavor of the hexbug beneath was mild by comparison. It was a good combination, with a great crunch to it, and Prowl was smiling by the time she’d finished chewing it. “‘S good!”

Jazz grinned, preening. Then she set about heating and spicing the rest of the hexbugs she’d gathered. They weren’t all crickets, and as Prowl munched her way through them, she found that they all had slightly different flavors. Sundance sniffed then turned up her nose at the spiced hexbugs and focused her attention on Jazz’s sack, munching on the occasional escapee.

Trailfire was the first other than Prowl to reach for one. Bravely he ate it, glaring at the other guards until they followed suit. Only after each guard had eaten the requisite one did he authorize their liquid rations for the evening. Despite their protests, the general consensus from most of them was that the hexbugs weren’t all that bad.

During the ruckus entailed in doling out rations, Silver took a toasted pillbug tentatively and examined it in the firelight. “Actually now it looks like one of those things you can get in the market during trade season, only those are more covered in this brown crystal stuff, which is harder.”

“They taste similar to those, if I’m thinking of the same ones you are.” Prowl had tried quite a few of the Polyhexian foodstuffs her first time in Hightower, though Arcee had refused to experiment with her. At the time Prowl hadn’t known what went into the things, and looking back now, it was probably a good thing Arcee had refrained. She would have had to do penance for consuming once-living things, otherwise, as a knight of Primus. “These are a little spicier, and easier to chew since the coating isn’t as hard.”

Jazz’s optic band had bounced from one speaker to the other, following the flow if not the meaning of the words. The snarls and pops of the occasional exploding bug punctuated the conversation. She deposited another batch of spiced hexbugs on top of the first pile, then set the shovel aside to cool.

“Good?” she asked as she picked up the knotted bag and flopped down next to Prowl to eat her own share raw (and still wiggling). A bowl appeared in her hands and she handed it to Racer, the guard in charge of doling out liquid energon tonight. He only hesitated a nanoklik, waiting for Trailfire’s nod before filling it and offering her the limited selection of additives they had to go with it — all metallics, Prowl noted, as opposed to the crystals Jazz had been using.

“No. Than-ku. You.” Jazz sounded out the words carefully, which Prowl had taught her along with other polite expressions earlier, in the carriage. She had wound up explaining them as ritual phrases surrounding the offering and acceptance of requests and gifts. Jazz had promised to do her best to remember them, but — and Prowl had to admit the truth of it — there were a  _ lot _ of situations where they were used, and not all as obvious as when accepting a gift. Or declining flavors for her energon. “Did I do it right?” she switched back to Polyhexian to ask, turning an inquisitive look on Prowl.

“Did,” Prowl told her. She took another cooked critter from the pile, a medium-length one with a rounded body that (she thought) had the best flavor in the bunch. “An’ these’re very good. How’d ya manage t’get so many so fast?”

“These,” Jazz said, holding out a flailing moth that she seemed to particularly like (or maybe like Sundance, was most attracted to because they were moving and occasionally had to be snatched out of the air), “found a nest in a crystal, an’ these,” she picked up a squirming segmented tube-like one with two rows of little legs on one side, “I found a bunch’a ‘em under a fallen crystal, while I was huntin’ th’hoppers. Enough t’feed us all t’night.”

“Well, they seem t’have gone over pretty well.” Even if most of the guards weren’t eating nearly as many of the bugs as she was. Silver was still just looking at the one he’d taken, like he was trying to work up the courage to actually put it in his mouth. “Yer a good food-finder.”

“Can show ya,” Jazz offered. “Come with me?”

“Sure.” Prowl stood, brushing away stray crumbs and reaching for her spell components so she could cast a Light spell, but then hesitated. “Does light scare ‘em away? I can’t see real well in th’dark.”

Jazz tilted her head again, then turned a considering look down at her pile. “Might wanna catch these,” she held up a twitching cricket, “durin’ th’day then.” She ate the bug, crunching on it happily, then picked up another of the segmented tube hexbugs. “Can still find th’nests with yer light, though.”

“Kay.” Prowl pulled out the jar she kept the little glowing hexbugs she needed to cast the spell in and unscrewed the lid. She’d seen some glowing bugs in the bag earlier, but it was easier to use one of her own than to sort through what was left for the right kind. Uttering the words for the spell, Prowl brought the light from the bug up to the star-shell on her necklace, where it magnified and radiated out around her to light her path.

She turned and smiled at the others who were all watching openly. “Jazz is going to show me how to find some of the hexbugs. We’ll be fine on our own.” With any luck, they wouldn’t terrify Silver when they returned by appearing at the climax of another ghost story.

Jazz stopped by the carriage to grab one of Sundance’s blankets, patting the sleeping cat conspicuously curled up  _ not _ on said blankets. “Here. Y’tie it like this.” She tied the two diagonal corners in a knot with long tails, then tied those ends together again, securing it to make a large loop Prowl figured would become the handle. Then she took the two other corners and tied them together, securing them at the top of the handle to make an enclosed bag exactly like her own. She handed it to Prowl and arranged the folds so there were no open spaces. “Carry it like this, or they’ll git out.”

Prowl fussed with it for a moment until she was able to carry it without it falling open. “Got it,” she said when she was ready. “Let’s go.”

With a delighted,  _ excited, _ smile, Jazz turned and led the way into the towering crystals.

The last time she and Jazz had been in a forest like this, Prowl had been running from her. Now, like then, the islander’s steps were utterly silent as she almost glided across the debris that made up the forest floor. Prowl tried to emulate her, but her steps, while quiet, weren’t completely soundless.

The glow of her spell washed out most of the glow from the lines of paint they both wore, and it definitely created an edge where everything beyond its reach melted together into an impenetrable darkness. The tradeoff was it allowed her to avoid tripping or cutting herself on protruding edges of crystal. And far from chasing off all the hexbugs, it actually attracted the moths. Soon they were walking with a veritable escort of the fluttering things.

“How’re ya supposed t’catch ‘em?” Prowl asked after several (failed) attempts to grab one out of the air.

Jazz shrugged and snagged one easily. She offered it to Prowl. “Ain’t tried this b’fore, with th’light. If y’find a nest, they ain’t flyin’ around.”

“That’d help, I guess.” Prowl took the moth between her fingers, still not sure about eating something that was still moving. Maybe… She pressed her fingers together, squishing it. The result was a light dusting of powder on her fingertips, and a dead bug. She brought it up to her lips, but her first tentative lick proved, “Ugh! Tastes like chalk!”

Jazz chuckled. “Y’killed it though. Gotta eat it.”

“But—!” Prowl looked down at the crushed moth in her hands. She didn’t want to eat the rest of it.

“Everythin’s got a spark,” Jazz said gently, but firmly. “An’ that one just died so y’could eat. So y’gotta eat it.”

When she put it that way, Prowl couldn’t really argue. In a way it reminded her of the way the Iaconi religion held life to be sacred, though of course that religion also proscribed killing. Polyhexians obviously didn’t share that particular belief, but if they had such a respect for life it wouldn’t be right for her to fly in the face of it.

She wasn’t going to kill any more moths though, that was for sure.

Bracing herself, Prowl quickly swallowed the rest of the chalky dust, trying to taste it as little as possible. It wasn’t the most offensive thing she’d ever eaten — in fact, the drink Jazz had made the other night was considerably worse, now that she thought about it — but it still wasn’t pleasant. “They’re lots better oxidized,” she said when she had finished.

“S’ship’s rations,” Jazz said with a wrinkle of her nose. “So they don’t spoil. I ain’t had ‘em fresh fer  _ seasons.” _ She snatched another moth from the air and ate it without hesitation.

“I’ll leave ‘em t’ya then,” Prowl said without any feeling of hardship. “Y’said they nest in crystal, right? How d’ya find those?”

“Haven’t seen any yet.” Absently Jazz plucked a segmented-tube bug off the edge of a crystal and put it in her bag. “We’re lookin’ fer cracks in th’crystal. Ain’t always gonna be a nest, but could be.”

“Look fer cracks in th’crystal,” Prowl repeated, scanning their surroundings. “And under ‘em too, right?”

“Yeah. Th’fallen ones. ‘Specially if they look a bit crumbly.”

“Like this?” Prowl knelt down and rolled one of the crystals laying on the ground. There was nothing under it, but she could see how the depression it created might look like a nice place to hide for something as small as a hexbug.

“Yeah.” Jazz knelt down too. “But this one’s too fresh. Fallen only a bit ago. They eat th’crystal, see, an’ that makes it fragment.”

“Ohh.” That made sense, and made it a good sign to look for. Sort of like looking for the bubbles in the sand along the surf for digging up remis. “Y’musta found a big old one then!”

“Did!” Jazz eased the log back in place and stood. “Can also—” she cut herself off and quickly glided to another crystal. This was not fallen, but it did have a large hole in it, part way up. “S’too dark, they’re already gonna be gone, but can’t hurt t’check…” She jumped, catching herself with her claws on the crystal, quickly scaling it until she was above Prowl’s head. She looked in the hole, then reached in, putting several things in her bag.

“Kelawar nest,” she informed Prowl when she dropped down to the ground. “Weren’t any in there. They leave at sunset t’hunt hexbugs an’ won’t be back ‘til sunrise, but I found a couple’a kani,” she pulled a very large hexbug from her bag, which hissed aggressively at them; this didn’t seem to bother Jazz at all. “Also found a maoa,” she held up her other hand, where she held a very long, tube-like mechanism just behind its head; the rest of it was wrapped around her arm, as though trying to squeeze the life out of its attacker while its optics glared balefully at them both. “Waitin’ fer th’kelawar t’come back.”

“Lurkin’ so ‘e can get an easy meal, huh?” Not a bad strategy, that. Prowl looked at the maoa critically. She wasn’t familiar with this exact variety, but she did know that some cryo-snakes were poisonous. “It bad if this kind bites ya?”

“Not this one.” Jazz stuck her finger in its mouth to open it up wider and show the creature’s lack of teeth. “I gotta basket we can use t’bring it with us, like th’nijan. Best way t’keep energon fresh is t’keep ‘em alive.”

“If y’can keep Sundance from pouncin’ it,” Prowl giggled, already imagining what the cybercat would do with a wiggling basket containing a self-moving string. “She’s gonna think that’s a great toy.”

Jazz snorted. But she didn’t put the cryo-snake down; she left it curled around her arm as she turned back to looking for hexbug nests.

Prowl did her best to keep the rough position of their camp in her mind as they continued through the forest, but had to admit that if Jazz wasn’t with her she might have some difficulty getting back. Between looking for cracks in the crystals above her and fragments and dust around the crystals below, she let herself get distracted enough times that she wasn’t confident she knew the path they had taken anymore. She was getting better at spotting potential hidey holes for the hexbugs though, and her bag soon had a few of her own tucked safely away inside.

“‘M I doin’ okay?” she asked when they’d been walking for awhile and still hadn’t found many bugs. “I know y’said y’got lucky findin’ lots all together, but I don’t have very many.”

“Yer doin’ fine,” Jazz soothed. “We ain’t catchin’ hoppers, ‘cuz’a th’light, an’ there ain’t much’a anything else I’ve seen either.”

That made her feel a bit better, and if nothing else, it was nice to just spend time with Jazz, walking alone in the forest… so nice that a whole joor went by before Prowl even realized it. She hadn’t been aware of how long they’d been out until the light emanating from her necklace suddenly dimmed, then went out altogether as the spell ended. “Jazz?” she called, freezing in place.

“S’okay,” Jazz said softly. Because of the glowing marks on her beloved, Prowl saw her reach out and take her hand (the one that didn’t have a snake wrapped around it). “Let yer optics adjust. I know y’can’t see much, but y’can see more’n y’think. I’ll guide us back when yer ready.”

“Can see yer paint,” Prowl said, though that light didn’t carry far enough to do more than illuminate Jazz herself. As she got a little more used to the dark, she began to see variations in the shadows around them from starlight filtering down through the crystal, but again, it wasn’t enough for her to truly see by. But what she lacked in sight, her audios suddenly made up for in what she was hearing. “Oh! It got noisy.”

“Can hear more when y’can’t see, an’ there’s things that ain’t hidin’ from th’light no more,” Jazz explained, keeping her voice soft.

“Like th’hoppers?” Prowl lowered her voice as well, listening to see how many different sounds she could separate out. There were quite a few, but none of them were camp sounds. “Should head back now, before anyone comes lookin’ fer us. Could use th’rest soon, anyway.”

“Soon as yer ready t’walk,” Jazz assured with a squeeze of her hand.

Prowl stood still a bit longer, but eventually it got to the point where she could see that, no matter how much she waited, she wasn’t going to be able to see any better than she already could. “I’m ready,” she said, looking down at the ground. She could at least see the outlines of the larger crystal trees and fallen branches, so there was that.

Slowly, carefully, Jazz led her back to the camp. She could hear it long before she could see it, mostly the murmur of quiet voices and laughter. Then suddenly they stepped out of the crystal trees and into the light of the campfire, almost blindingly bright after the loud darkness of the forest.

“Imperial Princess,” one guard called loudly —  _ far _ too loudly. After hearing nothing but crickets and croaks and squeaks, the voice of a mech was like a thunderclap.

Prowl flinched, trying to adjust to the shift in light and sound. It was a bit like being interrupted at her telescope, when her attention was on the night sky until someone burst in with a disproportionately bright light and booming voice. “I hope you haven’t sent anyone out,” she said, not quite able to count how many mechs were gathered around the fire to see if any were missing. “Or if you have, that you can call them back easily now that we’ve returned.”

“Not yet,” Trailfire said.

“They,” Silver’s nervous voice, “were telling us—”

“You,” Shadow corrected.

_ “Us. _ About turbowolves.”

“And I suppose we were set upon and eaten?” Prowl guessed, readily able to imagine the tale. “I wouldn’t envy the turbowolf who thought to try for Jazz.” Jazz looked up from where she was stowing her snake and the extra live hexbugs in the carriage, and, when she saw that the amused/admonishing tone wasn’t directed at her, preened.

Once her optics readjusted for the light, Prowl saw the fire had been allowed to die down some, and given the late joor, she was reluctant to ask them to build it back up. She’d hoped Jazz would show her how to oxidize the hexbugs she’d caught tonight, since she was still a little hungry. But the soldiers had left plenty of the ones Jazz had made earlier, and her experience with the moth had taught her not to kill them until she was going to eat them. Better to put her catch in with Jazz’s, kept alive until she was hungry or they decided to release them.

Jazz had said the oxidized and spiced hexbugs were ship’s rations; killing those in advance must be different, as she imagined fuel sources didn’t go to waste on a boat.

On the whole it had been a pleasant food-finding expedition, and she’d learned something important. Maybe it was even part of the Polyhexian habit of keeping creatures like the nijan alive until they were ready to be consumed or the energon sold to someone else who would consume them. Jazz had said it was easier to keep fresh that way, but it also guaranteed a mechanimal’s spirit wouldn’t be sacrificed unnecessarily.

Sundance came over when she was done putting everything away, asking to be picked up and Prowl did so. “You needn’t have worried. We were the consumers, not the consumees tonight.”

“I shuddered to imagine such a grisly fate — on anyone!” Silver confirmed. “But it was especially disturbing to think it could befall you, Imperial Princess.”

“What he’s trying to say, Imperial Princess,” Shadow continued, much more calmly, “is that the soldiers made mere mechanimals sound like Mortilus’ own hounds were stalking our tires on this trip.”

“They do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t they? I think it must be a requirement of the journey to tell such stories.” As a way to pass the time, they certainly were entertaining. “Keep in mind that even those stories that do contain an element of truth are often exaggerated considerably for effect,” she told Silver.

“Yes, Imperial Princess.”

“And you — all of you,” she said, including Shadow as she addressed the soldiers, “keep in mind that not everyone here is as comfortable in the forest as you are. A little consideration would not go amiss.”

“Yes, Imperial Princess,” the soldiers’ subdued chorus answered.

“Some of those stories were amusing though,” Sundance mewed from Prowl’s arms.

“Listening, were you?” Prowl brought Sundance over to where Jazz was finishing up by the carriage. “And what was the more amusing part, the stories themselves, or Silver’s reactions?”

“Both.” The cybercat’s tail lashed in a laugh.

Jazz came up behind her and put her hand on her door, stroking suggestively and stealing a kiss on Prowl’s neck. She purred like a cat herself. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah. They were scarin’ Silver a bit so I told ‘em t’knock it off with th’stories a little, but it’s fine.” Prowl bumped her shoulder against Jazz’s, which drew a protest from Sundance as she was jostled slightly. “‘S time t’pick someplace t’recharge.”

“I’ll git us some blankets an’ y’can pick out a cave.” With another kiss, this time a peck on her lips, Jazz went back to the carriage. Since she hadn’t let the servants pack all the things  _ they _ thought a princess needed when travelling, just the things she  _ actually  _ needed, the Praxan style blankets weren’t as pretty as the Polyhexian ones Jazz had left behind in Hightower. But they were warmer. Since the tents would keep off the wet, instead of the blanket doing double duty, Prowl thought it was a good trade off.

While Jazz filled her arms with blankets, Prowl took her armful of cat and “picked” a tent from the ones that had been set up earlier. There wasn’t much actual choice involved, since it was obvious which one was theirs by its position near the carriage, protectively encircled by the others.

Sundance leapt down and paced around the interior of the tent while Prowl waited at the flap for her familiar to finish her assessment. “Well? Does it meet with your approval?”

“It’ll do,” the cat meowed.

Not that Sundance would be spending a lot of time actually in the tent. She was going to make up for sleeping most of the cycle in the carriage by spending the night hunting.

When Jazz returned, her assessment was eerily similar to Sundance’s, but she too pronounced it suitable for habitation and set about arranging the blankets.

She held her hand out to Prowl with a sweet smile when she was done. “Come ‘ere? Kiss?”

“Kiss, yes,” Prowl said, pulling the flap closed behind her as she crawled in to lay beside her bonded. She had a suspicion Jazz might not be planning to stop at kissing, however, and the steel-canvas wasn’t exactly much of a sound barrier.

The kiss was sweet. Jazz tasted… well, a little like the hexbugs they’d both been eating. Prowl supposed she tasted mostly like the spices that coated the oxidized ones she’d finished while talking to the soldiers. But underneath, she tasted like  _ Jazz _ and building passion.

Laying so close, wrapped up in each other and the blankets, Jazz could easily reach her doors and hips, the sensitive spots on her spine. Claws teased with gentle passion.  _ Love _ suffused Jazz’s EM field, flickered through their bond… it was making it very hard to say no!

“Jazz, I— hmmn!” Prowl buried her face in the blankets to stifle a moan. “They’ll hear us!”

“Hmm?” Jazz didn’t stop nibbling on her neck, working her way down to her chest.

“Not — hah! Not supposed t’let others see’r hear ya doin’ this kinda thing,” Prowl tried to explain, simultaneously trying to remind herself why she really shouldn’t let Jazz keep going… even though all she wanted to do was reach back!

“Huh?” That made Jazz pull away slightly though. Her claws didn’t retreat, but they stilled, and she ceased her nibbling long enough to look into Prowl’s optics. “What’d ya say?”

“Praxans don’t do mate stuff ‘less they’re alone,” Prowl said. “It’s…  _ private,”  _ she still didn’t have the right word in Polyhexian! “Somethin’ y’keep t’yerself.”

Jazz puzzled her way through th. “Are alone,” she pointed out, confused.

“Sorta are.” No one could see them, that much was true. “But they’ll know what we’re doin’ if we do it.”

Jazz tilted her head, still confused. “Y’want me t’stop?” It sounded like she couldn’t imagine why, though.

“No. Yes? No.” Prowl buried her face in the blankets again, embarrassed. “I don’t know!”

_ “Coo-rru,” _ Jazz cooed comfortingly. She pulled the blankets around Prowl until she was buried in the warm nest. “Ain’t gonna ‘less y’want m’to.” She snuggled up to Prowl under her own blankets and wrapped her arms around her. “Later, when yer not upset.”

“‘M sorry,” Prowl curled into the embrace, wishing she didn’t feel so conflicted. “Love ya.”

“Love ya,” Jazz responded. “Ain’t got nothin’ t’be sorry fer. S’only good when it’s good fer everyone.” She kissed Prowl one more time, then settled in with a purr.

It took Prowl a little longer to settle down herself, but eventually she was able to relax fully into Jazz’s arms as the circling thoughts in her processor gave way to sleep.

. 

.

.

The rest of the trip seemed to pass in a blur. There was happiness, but also mixed feelings.

Jazz showed Prowl how to hunt the crickets during the day. Apparently their chirps were tied to how  _ warm _ it was, chirping more as the temperature dropped until it was too cold for them to stay awake and they stopped. Able to see, and focus on the sound instead of just on how  _ loud _ the sound was in the dark, Prowl learned to find them using the calls. Catching them was more difficult though. They were so  _ quick! _ Nothing else Jazz had shown her how to find so far — even the moths — had been so fast. Jazz was able to sneak up on them and snatch them right off the ground, but Prowl had to resort to using a bucket to come down on top of them before they could jump away.

There were also bigger hoppers with gooeyer insides that made a different sound, but only during the day. Both were hard to see against the backdrop of crystals and other debris on the ground, and Prowl was proud of her catch.

Jazz did eventually show her how to oxidize them, though she felt like she was scorching more than she should. Practice. It would take practice. And there was still more to learn, besides. When she asked Jazz where the oil came from, her answer was: the sea. Just that. The sea. So specific! After several attempts to get her to clarify, Prowl filed it under things that (hopefully) would be clearer once she got to the islands and could observe the gathering process directly.

Jazz continued to press for a merge each night, and — confused and wanting but also fearing the repercussions if the soldiers heard — Prowl ended up just clinging until Jazz simply cuddled her to recharge. Prowl wished there was a way for them to be truly alone. Even wandering off into the woods wasn’t enough to keep her from worrying about being overheard.

Meanwhile, Jazz’s Praxan improved. Slowly. Much more slowly than Prowl would have liked. The language wasn’t that hard! She had to remind herself that she had been studying Polyhexian for several vorn before Jazz helped her become conversational in it, filling in the gaps her books had left in her knowledge and correcting her pronunciation. Learning a second language was always much harder than learning the first as a newling. Jazz wasn’t going to become fully conversational in just a few cycles like Prowl had.

But she did improve. As they neared the city of Praxus, she started constructing simple sentences. She continued to have trouble with the very  _ concept _ of reading though. It was almost enough to make a femme scream!

It was absolutely enough to make Prowl appreciate the delay from the weather. All that rain from Hightower had apparently blown inland and fallen on Praxus as deep drifts of snow, which slowed their progress considerably once they were high enough in the mountains. She was surprised, though, to learn that snow wasn’t an entirely new phenomenon to Jazz. Apparently, while the islands were indeed warm for the most part, some were large enough to have mountains of their own. The lack of novelty didn’t make the anticipated snowball fight any less fun, however. The guards might have been unwilling to throw any at their princess, but they had ganged up to wage all-out war on Jazz — unsuccessfully, much to Jazz’s delight.

Around all she was doing with Jazz to prepare, Prowl also spent some time with both translators, going so far as to have them in the carriage with her one at a time while Jazz was driving to burn off energy so their conversation would be as private as possible. It was an uncomfortable truth, but not something she could afford to dismiss: Jazz was going to be vulnerable because of her lack of language comprehension, and Prowl needed to be certain both Shadow and Silver were willing to do their best to protect her. It was a relief that their allegiance to their lord, and to her by extension of Ultra Magnus’ support, was solid. In Silver’s case there was a personal interest as well, in the form of his desire to improve relations with Polyhex through talk and negotiation, and Prowl felt confident that neither of them were likely to deliberately cause any problems.

Jazz inadvertently causing problems, she expected in spades.

With Jazz unable to learn even the most basic of Praxan glyphs quickly, Prowl had to turn her attention to creating a suitable signature for her. While legally a simple X was enough, Jazz (and by extension Prowl, though she wasn’t concerned for her own sake) would be derided for that indelible evidence of her illiteracy. The result was less time spent out driving alongside the carriage, or helping shovel snow out of the road, and more time inside working on a suitable signature for Jazz.

Easier said than done. The glyphs needed to match up to the sounds of Jazz’s name, but also match up to the meaning. When introducing herself to Prowl the first time, Jazz had made sure she understood that it stood for  _ spontaneity, competence, _ and  _ music,  _ but the most common Praxan glyphs that matched to the sounds of Jazz’s name meant  _ wheel _ and  _ blade.  _ That just wasn’t acceptable for something so important and personal.

Asking for Jazz’s opinion on each of her attempts was always only an additional frustration, whether she complained about the lines not being energetic and flowing enough, or just shrugged and gave a catchall “Kay”.

Eventually Prowl gave up on coming up with anything that suggested the correct pronunciation and simply focused on meanings, drafting up three different versions to show Jazz. If she wasn’t going to drop the habit of interpreting the shapes rather than the sounds of even Praxan glyphs, then it was important that what she read in them corresponded at least somewhat with what Praxans would take from it. As far as how they read it to say it, calling it a nonstandard pronunciation was going to have to be good enough.

“Here,” she said, spreading out the three “spells” in front of Jazz the night before they were due to arrive in the city. “I’ve been tryin’ t’come up with somethin’ that has th’right story to it t’match ya. Whaddaya think?”

Tilting her head, Jazz gave the choice all due consideration. She might not understand what Prowl was trying to do, precisely, but she knew it was important.

“Can this one be more… flowy?” she finally asked, pointing to one that meant  _ Melody-Talon. _ “S’not quite loopy enough, like dancin’.”

“Hmm.” Prowl took her pen and rewrote the glyph so that it incorporated part of the character for  _ numerous,  _ which added both flowing lines and a connotation of many melodies. “Better?”

“Aka! Yes!” Jazz jumped on Prowl and hugged her fiercely. “S’perfect.”

Prowl hugged back, feeling a weight lift from her doorwings at finally having something that satisfied them both. “Now y’just gotta learn t’write it,” she said, holding the pen out to Jazz with a quick kiss. “Wanna try?”

“Ain’t a priest-mage,” Jazz said, looking at the pen like it was a poisonous cryo-snake ready to strike.

“Ain’t about bein’ a priest-mage, ‘s’about takin’ a Prax fer yer bondmate. All Praxans have a name-spell they can make, even warriors.”

“When y’make it, it’s magic,” Jazz protested still. “It’s beautiful an’ it means th’right thing. I don’t have that power. I don’t git lost. That’s m’power.”

“Y’haven’t even tried yet. Anyway, it ain’t the same magic. This’ th’kinda Praxan spell anyone can make.”

Slowly, Jazz accepted the inkpen and started copying the name-glyph.

She gave up after the fourth stroke. “Keh!” She did not throw the pen, instead setting it down on the otherwise blank book and sat back from it, but Prowl could tell she wanted to throw it. “S’not right.”

To Prowl it looked like a fine, if hesitant, first attempt. But the lines  _ did _ look hesitant.

“C’mere,” Prowl scooted around so she was behind Jazz, leaning around her side. She brought the book with her so it was within reach, then took Jazz’s hand in hers to pick up the pen. “Lemme show ya.”

It was awkward at first, getting Jazz to loosen up enough to be guided, but after only a few kliks, Jazz was letting her move her hand. Prowl took her through the motions of writing the glyph multiple times, slowly forming each line with care, if not perfect precision. While not as elegant as when she wrote it, it looked much better than Jazz’s initial barely-an-attempt.

After five repetitions, Prowl let go of Jazz’s hand and trailed her fingers up her arm to rest, unrestricting, on her shoulder. “Try again on yer own now,” she encouraged with a gentle squeeze.

This time Jazz made the entire glyph before sneering at it. Some of the lines had wobbled uncertainly, making the whole thing look less than confident or competent — two things that were definitely needed to describe Jazz! “Told’ja. This ain’t m’power.”

If convincing Jazz to do every single glyph was going to be this much of a challenge (even  _ after _ all the difficulty of teaching her to read them), maybe Prowl should just telling everyone in Praxus that Polyhexians had a religious taboo against writing. As far as she knew, it could very well be true. The term “priest-mage” implied mechs and femmes that used magic like Prowl’s also had some sort of religious function, and only Polyhexian priest-mages could read and write. If nothing else, it would help protect Jazz in the Praxan court against those who might try to use her illiteracy to take advantage of her. Praxans might not put much significance on their religions, but they had ample dealings with and respect for those who did.

The whole concept, as she considered it, implied a class division in Polyhexian society that no one had been aware existed before. One couldn’t learn wizard magic without being literate. Even now that Sundance remembered all Prowl’s spells for her, acting as her spellbook, researching and learning new spells required being able to take inkpen to flimsy. Historically, especially during the era of Galifar, literacy had been used to control rebellious populations for that reason, and wizards had played a large role in Galifar’s break up once the last recognized God-Emperor had died.

Yet, Jazz called her ability to summon the fishing-cat spirit in battle magic as well, and Prowl wasn’t prepared to say that it wasn’t…

In any case, while Prowl didn’t like what a religious taboo against writing implied, she was more than willing to use it to protect Jazz at court. Because of this bonding, she was currently recognized as an expert on Polyhexian society; if she said it was (possibly, she would have to make sure to tack on that she wouldn’t know for absolute certain until she returned from her foray to her bonded’s homeland) a religious taboo, no one could refute her.

“Yer gonna have t’put some kinda mark on th’contract,” Prowl said, since even if she explained away Jazz’s illiteracy in an “acceptable” way, it wouldn’t negate the need for her signature on the document to validate it. “‘S better if it’s somethin’ that represents who ya are.”

Jazz perked up. “I can draw a fishin’ cat. S’bad luck t’draw a fishin’ cat unless y’are one, so there ain’t a lotta others who’d make th’same mark.”

That wasn’t a bad compromise. “Show me?”

This time Jazz’s inkstrokes were firm and sure, sketching out the stylized image of a cat with a fish dripping in its jaws and spots on its overlarge front paws that went up to its chin, sweeping whiskers, and stripes down to its long tail. She even flawlessly incorporated the glyph they’d been working on into the stripes of the cat!

Its eyes stared out of the page as though daring the viewer to protest its presence there and legitimacy.

Jazz examined it critically, then shrugged. “Ain’t a crafter. S’best I can do.”

It was the best she could do? As if it wasn’t enough? Prowl still saw more magic in it than in any of the glyphs she’d been writing herself. “‘S beautiful,” she said, following the flowing lines with her optics rather than tracing the drying ink with her fingers. The artistry of it was evocative of her mate’s culture, while the incorporated glyph made it still legible (with a little bit of effort) to a Praxan viewer.

Jazz bumped her with her forehead, like she really was a cat. “Everythin’ okay now?”

“Is. Though I don’t think I’ll be able t’draw it like that’n have it look as nice.”

“Shouldn’t,” Jazz answered, with another affectionate bump, followed by a kiss on her shoulder. “Yer not a fishin’ cat; yer a ship cat.”

“Oh! Th’bad luck would apply t’me too?” Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised; she wasn’t Polyhexian, but she did have a spirit mechanimal of her own. “‘Zat mean ya can’t draw pictures’a ship cats?”

Prowl felt Jazz laugh. “No. Ship cats like being drawn. Just ask ‘er.”

“Sundance?” Prowl looked around for her cat. “Y’got a problem with people drawin’ pictures’a ya?”

“Of course I don’t!” Sundance meowed back without waking up where she was curled into a near-perfect circle on the seat across from them in the carriage. “In fact, why would you want to draw anything else?” Her tail flipped twice. “I’ll even hold still for you… as long as I’m napping.”

Prowl giggled. “Yer right. She thinks she should be a model.”

“Toldja.” Jazz snuggled up to Prowl, purring.

They sat together for a short while longer before Trailfire came up to the side of the carriage and knocked politely. “Imperial Princess? Warrior Jazz? We’re going to be breaking out rations soon.”

Jazz looked up at her name and smiled. “Rations” was one of the words she’d gotten early on from the soldiers. “Thank. You. Trailfire.” Her answer was still hesitant, but it was improving! “I didn’t do much food-findin’ earlier. Still got th’maoa though.”

“Y’wanna finally eat it?” Prowl had been a little surprised by how long Jazz had kept the cryo-snake, though it wasn’t like it had been hard to take care of. They’d only had to feed it once, and the cold had kept it from being very active.

“Don’t have anythin’ else t’bring.” Prowl still hadn’t been able to get through to Jazz that she didn’t have to bring food to every single meal. Not that she’d tried very hard, really. It was good for the soldiers to try new things. A learning experience! And it let Prowl troubleshoot some of the places where other Praxans might have trouble with what Jazz had brought with her for the capital. Somehow she didn’t think roasted bugs or energon from a freshly killed snake carcass would go over as well as kelapa balls and other preserved rations that didn’t look like anything that had been alive mere kliks before consuming it.

“Let’s eat it then,” Prowl agreed. The easiest explanation for the castle staff was the one she didn’t have to give.

And maybe she was having a  _ little _ fun watching the guards’ reactions, too.

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	5. Chapter 5

The next morning dawned clear and crisp. Prowl woke to the sounds of movement outside their tent as the guards began breaking down the camp, but instead of getting up she just burrowed closer to Jazz. It was cold outside the blankets!

Jazz certainly had no problem being Prowl’s furnace. In fact, she was probably still asleep. She tended not to move until Prowl did.  _ Sundance _ was already up though. Prowl could hear her debating to herself where she was going to stash her latest glitchmouse catch for the day, so she could come back to it when she was hungry.

“I better not find it in my books,” Prowl warned her, though of course her words would be completely ineffectual.

“Okay. Won’t find it,” the cat responded.

“Should have expected that,” Prowl sighed, finally forcing herself to move as the sounds outside drew closer. “Jazz? ‘S time t’get up.”

Jazz rolled over and pandiculated, bracing herself against the ground and lifting herself up. This let a blast of cold air into their warm cocoon, which the islander didn’t seem to mind. Prowl, on the other hand, squeaked and tried to pull them back in around her while Jazz wiggled out and shook, settling her armor, then straightened her jewelry so it hung right around her. She poked Prowl gently with her toe. “Yer th’one who said git up,” she teased.

“Sure, but ya didn’t have’ta let in all th’cold at once!” The longer she was up and moving though, the more she warmed up. Prowl slowly let the blankets fall away as she no longer needed them as much. “So. This’s it. Even if it snowed more in th’night, we’re gonna reach th’city today.”

Jazz looked excited. “S’good. Then we can do th’ _ wedding,” _ she said the Praxan word; there was no Polyhexian word for a complex, political bonding ritual, “right? S’a big party.”

“A  _ real  _ big party, yeah. That part won’t happen this sunrise though. There’s lotsa gettin’ ready still needs t’happen first.” Since there was no way of knowing exactly how long the journey to and from Hightower would wind up taking, the actual date of the wedding hadn’t been set before she left. Preparations would only truly begin in earnest now that they had arrived.

“Kay.” Still, Jazz’s visible excitement didn’t fade and she bounded out of the tent (letting in MORE cold air!) to see what she could find to contribute to the morning energon before the guards served their rations.

Prowl procrastinated a little bit longer, then gave in to the inevitable and followed her outside.

It had snowed in the night, just enough to coat everything in a fresh layer of white fluff. It sparkled in the sunlight, bright enough that Prowl needed to let her optics adjust after the relative darkness of the tent. They wouldn’t need to break out the shovels though. The energetic zap ponies, fresh from their sleep and eager to get on the road, wouldn’t have any trouble with the thin dusting.

“Good morning,” Prowl said to Trailfire. “I trust we’ll be ready to leave soon?”

“As soon as your tent’s up and we’ve fueled,” he assured. Even as he spoke, two of the guards started clearing out the tent, pulling the couple’s blankets and the few other possessions that had crept in out and stowing them in the carriage.

Jazz was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t unusual. She’d be back when she found something to eat.

“Will you be sending someone ahead to announce us?” Advance notice would save them the trouble of waiting for a full escort to form up, and make sure the road to the castle didn’t become obstructed by onlookers.

“Whichever you wish, Imperial Princess.” Trailfire answered. “Dagger’s ready to drive ahead at your command.”

“He can wait until we reach the final part of the approach.” They were still far enough out that sending him now would just force everyone in the city to wait on them. “Thank you all for your admirable service on our journey.”

“It was an honor, Imperial Princess.”

Knowing better than to get in the soldiers’ way, Prowl occupied herself with arranging the blankets and things (mostly books) in the carriage. The windows needed to be clear for them to see out and be seen driving through the streets of Praxus, and that meant getting the hodgepodge the carriage’s interior had devolved into under control. A task that would have been much easier, if there hadn’t been a  _ cat  _ bound and determined to  _ sit everywhere she tried to move things. _

When Jazz reappeared, she was dirty and looked like she’d been digging. For what was obvious: she proudly lugged two makeshift knot-bags back with her, both filled with some sort of bulbous crystals. Seed crystals, which Prowl actually recognized as tryffeli crystals. At the high altitudes of the City of Praxus, tryffeli became brittle and died every winter, leaving behind a cluster of seed crystals buried in the ground. The Imperial Gardens had beds of them that were now dormant. When the snow melted, they’d grow and bloom into some of the most colorful displays…

“Y’can eat those?” She’d thought they were purely decorative.

“Just this part,” Jazz said as she passed them out evenly amongst everyone (and got her bowlful of purified energon in return). “Th’rest’a it’s pretty nasty. Tell ‘em t’crush ‘em inta th’liquid.”

Prowl passed along her instructions, finding them surprisingly easy to break up with just her fingers. She licked the remnants off her fingertips when she was finished, and was pleased to discover that they tasted alright even on their own. What little flavor they had wasn’t as bitter as some other seed crystals when not mixed with anything, and taking a sip from her cube proved that mixing only improved them.

These were far less objectionable than some of the other things Jazz had brought back over the course of the journey. Trailfire’s standing orders were that the soldiers had to try everything, and they were good sports about it, but they likened it to gambling when it came to whether or not her contributions would be suitable for a Praxan palate. It helped that both Prowl and Shadow were generally up for trying anything, and even Silver, while still more hesitant than they, didn’t refrain from eating the crystals.

They made drinking the energon an interesting experience. Some of the pieces remained too large to swallow and had to be further crushed by teeth first. They also collected at the bottom of the cubes, given the final few mouthfuls a gritty, slushy texture.

“Those’re pretty good,” Prowl said when she’d finished. She’d have to remember to tell Jazz not to go digging in the gardens for more though. “Still like th’kelapa best.”

Jazz beamed.

Once they were underway, Jazz was too excited to ride in the carriage. She zipped back and forth on the road, transforming to drive alongside it for a few breems, then back to bipedal form to look at the crystals piled with snow growing there. Prowl was glad that, late in the season as it was, there weren’t any travelers or caravans. She’d have been a traffic hazard, otherwise.

As they crested the final hill before the approach to the city itself, Dagger left his zap pony in the care of one of the other guards and transformed to speed ahead and tell the castle they were coming. A moment later the city itself came into view and Jazz clambered to the top of the carriage to look.

The crystalline spires of the castle rose sharply into the sky, the sunlight and the snow giving it an otherworldly quality. It dwarfed the castle in Hightower both in height and breadth. It could have hunched over the landscape, but instead it challenged the mountains around it, finding elegance in sheer height. The city sprawled around the castle’s base, glittering in the light. Even Prowl, who had seen it before, had to admit that it was impressive.

She leaned her head out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of Jazz’s reaction. “Well?” she called up to her. “Whaddaya think?”

“Looks big,” Jazz answered, sounding subdued.

“Is.” What more was there to say? Praxus spoke for itself in that regard. The city  _ was _ big, and only loomed larger as they approached.

Annoyingly, Jazz refused to come down off the top of the carriage. She was going to make quite a spectacle of herself up there, perched where she didn’t belong, wearing strange jewelry and accessories and still covered in dirt from digging up seed crystals. Prowl had meant to pull her aside and clean her up a bit, but had gotten distracted and forgot. Probably just as well, since she’d just have gotten dirty again driving, and either way there was no getting around her making a very… unique first impression.

A contingent of the guard was ready and waiting for them when at last they reached the walls of the city. Several of the soldiers were trying to hide their curiosity and fascination, while others were just blatantly staring. Dagger, standing off to the side, looked like he was enjoying the reactions as much as Prowl had been enjoying theirs along the way. Jazz puffed out her chest and flexed her claws, as though to assert that she was just as good a warrior as any of them.

Trailfire reset his vocalizer and the waiting captain, a mech Prowl recognized named Swiftdash, shook himself free of his (covert) fascination.

“Captain Trailfire,” he said formally, “will you entrust your charges to my care?”

“If the Imperial Princess approves, we would be happy for the break,” Trailfire answered the ritual question with his own.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Captain Swiftdash came up to the side of the carriage to look in. Prowl saw how hard it was for him to not look up at Jazz, who was unashamedly looking down at him. “Imperial Princess, please allow me to escort you to the castle?”

“My intended and I are in your capable hands.”

He put his hand over his spark and gave her a shallow bow of salute. Then he turned and barked orders that broke the others out of their respective stupors, berating them for staring instead of  _ doing their jobs. _

Trailfire and the others didn’t actually leave, or get ousted from their positions. They wouldn’t actually let their guards down until they reached the castle and were truly released to go to their respective homes and barracks. But Swiftdash and his guards widened the perimeter, to clear the street and keep the onlookers at bay.

Jazz looked up as the doors to the city opened, watching in something very like awe as they passed under the great wall. The city wall was thick and bristling with defensive features. It had held firm against the wars of the past… and Jazz nearly fell off the carriage, trying to keep the edge in sight.

“Careful,” Prowl called up to her. She wished she could see better, keep an optic on her… though what she would actually be able to  _ do  _ she couldn’t imagine. “Sundance, would you go sit with her?”

“You  _ want _ me to climb up there?” The cat laughed. Her tiny claws scratched over the carriage’s finish as she scrambled to join Jazz.

It didn’t make Jazz any less a spectacle, or give Prowl any more options in case something happened but… “Tell me if you think there’s going to be any trouble,” she mewed up at her familiar before addressing Jazz again. “If yer gonna stay up there,  _ stay  _ up there, kay?”

“Won’t fall,” Jazz called back.

The street was quiet for only a short way past the gate. The side streets and windows of buildings quickly filled with mechs and femmes wanting to catch a glimpse of the returning princess and her strange companion. Before long, a cacophony of voices filled the air.

“There’s so many…” Without warning, Jazz squirmed back in through the window of the carriage and snuggled into Prowl’s arms. “Ain’t hidin’,” she insisted.

“‘Course not,” Prowl agreed, holding her close. She hadn’t expected her to come down until they reached the castle! What was she not-hiding from? “You okay?”

Jazz didn’t answer; she just burrowed further into Prowl’s embrace, pushing her sensor horns under Prowl’s arm. It was enough to make Prowl want to draw the curtains on the windows. Nothing on the entire journey had disturbed Jazz like this!

She couldn’t draw the curtains, of course. Not if she wanted to give an open, inviting impression to the people as they made their way slowly through the streets, and the closer they got to the castle, the more she thought it probably wouldn’t have helped much anyway. Jazz burrowed in closest whenever they passed through a particularly crowded district, and it wasn’t hard to figure out it was the  _ noise  _ she was trying to escape.

“It won’t be so loud when we git t’th’castle,” she said, smiling out the window at the masses while she tried to comfort her bondmate. “Won’t be as many people.”

“Ain’t hidin’,” Jazz still insisted, even as she burrowed again to escape the cheers.

Prowl cupped her hand over Jazz’s audio, hoping to muffle the sound at least a little. “Yer fine. They expect us t’ride in here through th’city. We’re almost halfway there now.”

Of all the things she had thought might be an issue, this hadn’t even occurred. Jazz was social — more naturally social than Prowl herself — and she loved people. Prowl had expected the City of Praxus to be impressive, yes, but not  _ frightening _ to her beloved.

She kept up a soft, murmuring stream of words as a counterpoint to the inescapable din outside, mostly just describing the kinds of things people did in the sections of the city they were passing through. She didn’t really expect Jazz to understand much of it, especially since so many times she had to resort to the Praxan word for something when she couldn’t come up with a Polyhexian equivalent, but that was alright. If it helped even a little, that was all that mattered. Even if Jazz continued to insist every so often,  _ ain’t hidin’. _

They were going to have to seriously reconsider the traditional structure of a royal wedding if Jazz was going to have this much trouble with crowds. She’d be a mess before the ceremony even began after a full procession.

It was a relief to finally pull through the front gate of the castle (almost as massive as the gate at the entrance of the city) and into the castle’s courtyard. The volume of the people gathered around abruptly dimmed, though it didn’t disappear. The sound continued to carry over the walls until the cheering stopped. The carriage pulled around the now-still (in preparation for the coming freeze) fountain that was the centerpiece of the courtyard and the guards rearranged themselves to present the princess, rather than simply guard her. One came over to help the couple out of the carriage.

“Wait,” she ordered softly. She wanted a moment for Jazz to collect herself before subjecting her to Mirage and the other courtiers waiting on the steps. She didn’t see the king; hopefully he was one of those waiting inside, or else this was going to be a very unpleasant wedding, if she was that far out of favor after only a lunar cycle on the road. “We’re here,” she said equally gently to Jazz. “There’s people waitin’ t’meet ya, when yer ready.”

“Need t’take th’food t’th’firekeeper,” Jazz murmured back, loosening her deathgrip on Prowl.

“People first, then food.” They were  _ not  _ going to the kitchens first! Although… “Unless y’wanna present it t’th’chief when we go inside, like a gift.”

“Sure!” That brightened Jazz up. “Gotta show I can hunt fer the clan.”

“Have her things brought in with us,” Prowl told the guard. “Among them are gifts she has brought to present to the king.” Normally that would be done on a separate occasion, but Prowl wasn’t above restructuring their reception so that Jazz would be able to discharge her obligation and have something familiar to focus on. “They’ll carry it in with us so y’can show off,” she said to Jazz. “Th’chief — the  _ king  _ — ‘ll be front’n center when we get inside.” At least, he should be. He would be. “An’ ‘e’ll have a crown like th’ones we got from Compass, only bigger’n fancier.”

“Kay.” Jazz snatched up the painted kelapa shell that held the mysterious ka meli, and started to bound out the door of the carriage, then stopped. “Should I have m’armor an’ sarong’n hikurere?”

Technically she should be dressed in her full regalia to meet the king, especially if she was presenting gifts, but they were right off the road with no time to properly prepare. Keeping everyone waiting while Jazz put everything on here in the courtyard would be worse than going in with just her jewelry. Even if she was still all over road dust and dirt from digging seed crystals. “Not this time. We just got ‘ere so‘s kinda informal.” Compared to future events, anyway.

“Kay!” Clutching the precious waxed kelapa shell, Jazz bounded out of the carriage and the courtiers got their first look at Prowl’s bondmate.

Their reactions could be summed up all in a single word:  _ shock.  _ There were shades of disbelief, disapproval, and even what Prowl thought might have been disgust as well, but shock pretty much covered it. Then came the calculation, as they all tried to work out just how much of their personal opinions they wanted to display.

Prowl stepped down beside Jazz, holding herself tall and proud. She was not going to let any of them think she was ashamed of Jazz, because she wasn’t. If she wasn’t a perfect choice by Praxan standards, well, Prowl wasn’t a perfect princess. They were a matched set.

“Same rules ‘s th’party,” Prowl said, holding her arm out to her beloved. Sundance leaped from her perch on top of the carriage directly onto Prowl’s shoulder. “Stay close, no mate-touches, an’ no,” she grinned at what had become a common theme, “climbin’.”

Jazz looked at Prowl and grinned, then looked up at the face of the castle. “But y’would be impressed if I climbed that—  _ anyone,” _ she said with a bit of awe herself, “would be.”

“Among other things,” Prowl giggled. There was no denying it would be an impressive feat, but pretty much everyone in the city would also be appalled or horrified. “Y’don’ need t’climb it t’impress me though. I already think yer th’best.”

Jazz preened.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mirage was the first to fully recover his sense of decorum and step forward, leading the other courtiers to bow to the princess. “Imperial Princess Prowl. I speak for all of us when I say welcome back to the City of Praxus. And may I be the first to welcome your intended to your home as well?”

As planned, Shadow stepped up next to Jazz and echoed the words in Polyhexian.

“It is wonderful to be home, and to have a chance to introduce my intended at last. I present to you,” Prowl gestured to Jazz, “Warrior Jazz of Polyhex.”

Shadow finished translating and Jazz shook her head, turning it into a full body shake. “Ain’t ‘Jazz of Polyhex’,” she corrected. “S’Jazz’a Rainclouds Island. An’ I’m happy t’be here. Prowl’s th’best mate, th’ _ only _ mate, fer me, an’ I wanna do all th’things needed, t’take ‘er as a Praxan mate.”

Shadow looked at Prowl. “Warrior Jazz, of Rainclouds Island, Polyhex, expresses her happiness at being here and looks forward to the wedding.”

Mirage smiled. “Splendid. Please, come in from the cold. The king awaits.”

Prowl hid her relief behind an approving nod to Shadow. “I have been looking forward to seeing him,” she said, stepping forward to lead her entourage inside. “And my intended has a presentation she would like to make.”

“Oh?” Mirage said mildly, allowing Prowl and Jazz to pass him; Shadow gave way and let the noble take his place just behind the couple. “The king will be pleased, I’m sure.” His tone clearly said he wasn’t so sure of that. Pointedly, his optics looked over Jazz’s plating, still covered in streaks of rusty dirt.

“Has the court been well while I was away?” Prowl asked, equally pointedly  _ not  _ engaging in making excuses or apologizing for Jazz’s appearance. “The Hightower court was doing very well. Lord Ultra Magnus gave us quite the reception.” Despite the increase in raids, and despite Jazz being Polyhexian. It was both a compliment to the hospitality they’d received in Hightower, and a not-so-subtle hint that the high court shouldn’t come up lacking against a provincial one.

“Happy to hear you didn’t suffer too much away from the city, Imperial Princess.” Mirage returned, being less than subtle in snubbing Hightower. “As always, the court was bereft while you were away.”

“I am sure they were.” For some members of the court, it might have even been true. For the most part though, Prowl rather suspected Mirage of lying through his teeth.  _ He  _ certainly hadn’t missed her.

They didn’t have time for any more verbal fencing though. As they passed through the doors of the castle and into the grand entrance hall, Prowl had to grab her beloved’s hand to keep her from attacking the herald as he called their names.

Mirage melted into the crowd.

To Prowl’s relief, the king sat on the throne at the head of the hall. Beside him, on a smaller chair to his right, Prince Silverstreak leaned forward in anticipation. Prowl smiled at him, then focused her attention on the king.

King Bluestreak was a hard mech to read when he wanted to be, and right now Prowl couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. She lowered her doorwings as they approached, hoping his impassive expression was a sign that he was reserving his judgment. If he had already decided to dislike Jazz — personally, beyond being frustrated by the political fallout of Prowl not bonding to Arcee — then their whole stay here was going to be one long, uphill battle.

She lowered her optics just before she reached the prescribed distance in front of the throne and knelt, tugging on Jazz’s hand for her to do the same. With a surprised squawk, Jazz almost fell on top of her before she remembered what they’d gone over in preparation for this moment and let herself be guided to her knees. Unlike Prowl, who went to both knees (and caught her cat before the little pest could jump from her shoulder and run up to the throne), Jazz went to one knee like a soldier.

Behind them, Shadow knelt on one knee like Jazz, literally playing the part of the islander’s shadow.

The entire court held its collective breath while Bluestreak evaluated the couple. In the hush, Jazz fidgeted and twitched with impatience. Prowl squeezed her hand, the best she could do while they waited to be acknowledged.

The tense moment ended when the king finally broke his silence. “Rise, Imperial Princess Prowl and Warrior Jazz of Polyhex,” Bluestreak said, his voice echoing through the castle’s hall; Shadow echoed the words for Jazz. “Welcome to Praxus. Welcome home.”

“Ain’t ‘a Polyhex’,” Jazz muttered grumpily.  _ “Rainclouds Island.” _

Prowl wanted to ask her about that, since it kept coming up, but now wasn’t the time. “Thank you, your majesty,” Prowl said, rising to her feet. Jazz followed, clutching her hand. “It is an honor to finally present to you my intended.”

“Let’s see her then.” He motioned for Jazz to step forward.

Prowl smiled at her and nudged her to move up. “Warrior Jazz of  _ Rainclouds Island,  _ Polyhex, your majesty,“ she said. “My beloved and intended.”

Jazz stepped forward. For a moment she looked nervous, glancing around like she wasn’t sure where she was or who she should be addressing, but then she smiled cockily. “Hey,” she said, waving casually. “I’m the best warrior’n hunter Prowl could’a taken. I’ve led lots’a raids an’ even fought somma th‘fiercest monsters’a th’sea!” Her chest puffed as she found the rhythm of her bragging. “I lead lots’a warriors in t’battle! Sailed th’sea with the greatest skill, an’ once even stayed out on th’water th’whole storm season, with just m’kattumaram an’ m’twin!”

Shadow waited for a lull in the stream of words, then started translating. Per their discussion regarding translation and diplomacy, he did his best to accomplish both. “Jazz makes her greetings and assures she will be a good bonded to the Imperial Princess. To prove this, she lists her accomplishments: leading a great many warriors in many successful skirmishes, fighting off monsters, and sailing with skill even in the fiercest storms.”

“I brought food,” Jazz tacked on, when Shadow finished.

“She also brought gifts for the king and court,” Shadow said.

“I thought it best,” Prowl said, taking responsibility for the unconventional decision herself, “that she should present them to you now, as some of them are perishable.” Actually they probably all were perishable, if not immediately so, but the specifics weren’t important. “If it would please your majesty to accept them?”

Finally, the king smiled. “Well then. Let’s see them.”

Jazz looked back at Prowl as though to ask what she should do now, since (except for the ka meli), the servants were the ones bringing in the food. Prowl answered with an encouraging smile and made a gesture with her door, signalling the servants to enter. Jazz watched them carry in the boxes and bags and sacks and arrange them on the floor before turning back to Bluestreak to preen, showing off the pile.

“See? I’m a good mate!”

“A gift, to show she is a provider worthy of the Imperial Princess,” Shadow said for the court.

“I believe this is the first time a foreign envoy has brought  _ fuel _ as a gift,” Bluestreak said with a chuckle.

Somewhere behind her, in the crowd of watching nobles, Prowl imagined she could hear Mirage grit his teeth. He would have preferred a gift of sea gems and pearls to add to Praxus’ coffers, not a gift of fuel for the wedding celebrations.

“Izzat good?”

King Bluestreak ignored the translated question. “It will give a unique flavor to a unique wedding.” He waved, dismissing them from the floor. “Let us retire to the dining hall. I’m sure the two of you could use fuel and rest after your long journey.”

“That would be much appreciated, your majesty.” Prowl bowed at the dismissal, then smiled at her beloved. “He’s havin’ us move t’another room,” she explained, motioning Jazz to come with her as she made her way back toward the door. A quick flick of her doorwings had the servants collecting Jazz’s offerings again to follow. “We’re not goin’ straight there though. First ya need t’tell th’ _ kitchen staff _ what t’do with everything y’brought,” which would mostly consist of Prowl asking what was in each item and instructing that those with mechanimal components not be served to anyone of Primus’ faith, “and then y’can put on all yer ornaments.”

After a brisk wash in the soldiers’ washracks to deal with the dirt.

“Did I do okay?” Jazz asked, very not-anxiously, as she trotted on Prowl’s heels. “I couldn’t tell if ‘e was happy with it.”

“Remember what I said ‘bout Praxan approval bein’ quiet,” Prowl said, confident at least in this much. “‘E’s happy with it. ‘E just doesn’t know what all’a it is.” Which made it hard to determine how approving to be, even for a king. At least Bluestreak had seemed curious and intrigued by what she’d chosen to bring, rather than annoyed by what it wasn’t — which was a bit unfair of the others, since there hadn’t been an expectation of gifts of  _ any  _ kind from Jazz on this particular occasion. “‘E’ll probably thank ya again later, and ‘e’ll definitely let everyone at th’wedding know y’brought food t’share.”

“Good!” Jazz didn’t try and downplay the gift, as most mainlanders would. She wanted  _ everyone _ to know she had brought food and that she had worked hard to do so. Her steps regained their bounce.

Things were a little hectic when they arrived at the kitchens, and very noisy (which made Jazz hesitant to step inside), as everyone worked to put the finishing touches on the meal they would be attending shortly. The servants were understandably surprised to see them, but fortunately responsive enough to go find the head chef at Prowl’s request.

Here people weren’t making anywhere near the effort the courtiers had not to stare at Jazz and all the things she’d brought. About the only thing they were making an effort to do was continue working, or appear to be working, so they wouldn’t be reprimanded for shirking.

“Imperial Princess,” Verdine, the head cook, greeted with a deep bow. She was understandably impatient to get back to supervising the other servants, but she knew better than to say as much to one of the royals. “How may I help you?”

“My intended, the Warrior Jazz,” Prowl gestured, though of course everyone in the room could guess who Jazz was without the introduction, “has brought several things to contribute to the court and the wedding feast that need to be seen to.”

“Of course, Imperial Princess, Warrior Jazz,” she bowed to Jazz, who responded with a wave. “Let’s get your things squared away.”

“If any’a ‘em need t’be stored a special way, let her know,” Prowl told Jazz. She started to ask which things had mechanimal components, but then figured the better approach might be to ask, “Are there any that ain’t got fuel’r parts from mechanimals in ‘em?”

Jazz cocked her head inquisitively. “Just th’whole kelapa an’ th’spice powder. Oh! Brought some pisang crystal flowers’n nenas crystal, but those’re fer th’ka meli. So’re th’kelapa.” She clutched the painted kelapa shell. “That’s fer th’bonding ritual.”

“We’ll make sure those git set aside special then.”

Verdine was very efficient, directing the servants what to do with each of the things as they were unpacked. Between Prowl and Shadow, Jazz made it clear which ones needed to be kept dry and which needed to be kept back from the general provisions for the wedding feast. She was still  _ very  _ reluctant to hand over the ka meli though.

“They ain’t gonna break it,” Prowl promised.

“Know that,” Jazz said. “I traded m’entire take from a raid on a Prax ship fer this. Wanna make sure no one takes it.”

“It’s  _ that  _ valuable?”

“Couldn’t go git it m’self,” Jazz hung her head, like she considered this a personal failing, “so I had t’convince a villager t’git it fer me. Usually when it’s found, it’s shared by th’whole clan, so I had t’give up all th’goods I’d gotten on th’raid t’th’clan t’be allowed t’bring it with me.”

“Wow.” No wonder she’d been so fiercely protective of it. “This is to be reserved for the king’s table,” Prowl said, impressing its importance on Verdine. “See that it is safeguarded appropriately.”

“Of course, Imperial Princess! I will ensure of it myself.”

“Excellent. Jazz will come down personally at a later date to show you how it is to be prepared.” Hopefully that would make everyone’s lives a little easier. “Y’don’t mind showin’ ‘er what t’do with it before th’wedding, do ya?”

That made Jazz relax a bit. “Will.”

“Of course, Imperial Princess. We await her visit.” Verdine bowed again and accepted the reluctantly handed-over container of precious fuel.

At last, everything that needed to be left in the kitchens was appropriately disbursed. Other than the few snacks and kelapa that Prowl squirreled away for herself to take up to her rooms, everything edible was left behind as they made their way out of the kitchens. All that was left was to clean up and make themselves presentable.

“Should get yer ornaments out now,” Prowl said, “but don’t put ‘em on just yet. Need t’git some’a this dirt off first.”

Jazz paused in pulling out her hikurere and armor. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Just ain’t supposed t’wear dirt inside, that’s all. Ain’t wrong if ya haven’t had a chance t’wash.” And just let anyone try to say otherwise. “C’mon. There’s a,” she didn’t know the Polyhexian word so she used the Praxan one, “ _ washrack _ right over here.”

“Kay.” Jazz finished pulling out her ornaments, and Prowl sent the servants to take the rest of her belongings to her rooms. Sundance didn’t like showers, so Prowl left her begging for treats in the kitchen while she dragged Jazz off to get ready for the dinner. She’d collect her familiar after…

They didn’t have the time to go to one of the full bathrooms meant for nobles, like the one attached to Prowl’s rooms, so Prowl led Jazz to a nearer, more basic washrack with stalls, meant for soldiers.It was still enough to fascinate Jazz. She marvelled at the tile, and kept getting distracted by the (apparently) minutely different sounds each one made when she tapped them with her claws.

“Stand still, would ya?” Prowl teased, reaching for a washcloth while simultaneously turning on the tap.

Jazz shrieked and leaped away from the water, hissing and baring her claws at the innocuous showerhead.

“Or y’could do that.” Prowl looked between her and the shower, the thought only now occurring to her. “Ain’t ever seen one’a these, have ya?” Marvels of engineering and magic, running water still wasn’t common outside the castles and wealthiest of manors in Praxus. Obviously it wasn’t something Polyhexian kattumaram bothered with, but public bathhouses in the City of Praxus and, she presumed, Hightower, did feature showers. Even if the islands were primitive enough not to have running water in their houses, she’d thought Jazz would have seen one before during the trade season…

“What IS it?” Jazz growled suspiciously. Apparently she hadn’t.

“‘S’a  _ shower.  _ Fer gettin’ clean quickly.” What else was there to say? It was silly to describe it when Jazz could just  _ look  _ at it. “Like standin’ in th’rain.”

Cautiously Jazz reached out to touch the falling water, then snatched it back with a betrayed look.  _ “S’hot,” _ she accused.

“Oops. Supposed t’be warm, not hot.” Prowl checked the temperature of the water, and was surprised to discover it was fine. “Can make it colder if y’want,” she offered, though she couldn’t imagine why Jazz would prefer that. “Y’just turn this an’ th’water’ll get hotter or colder.”

_ “Rain _ ain’t warm,” Jazz insisted, still deeply suspicious of the shower.

“Wasn’t tryin’ t’lie to ya,” Prowl apologized. She hadn’t realized her analogy even had the potential to be misleading. “‘S just… showers’re warm.” They were always warm, had always been warm. Just like heralds always announced you when you walked into a room. “I didn’t think t’say it.”

“Ain’t natural.”

“Is safe though.”

It took more coaxing and assurances, but Prowl eventually managed to get Jazz under the spray, where she stood stiffly, looking as miserable as a wet cybercat. And Prowl had had lots of experience with wet cybercats in the last vorn. The servants refused to bathe Sundance, and as a kitten she’d been quite prone to getting into things while trying to investigate them (truthfully she still was). Just as she did with Sundance, Prowl was quick to give Jazz a thorough wipedown before turning off the water and stepping away behind the wall of one of the other stalls.

“‘M done.”

As expected, Jazz immediately shook, sending water spraying everywhere in her effort to dry herself. A towel would be more efficient, but no matter how many times Prowl had told Sundance that, the cat continued to shake off like this, and it looked like Jazz was no different.

She heard Shadow’s suppressed snicker from where he was guarding the entrance to the showers. Prowl was grateful to him for that. She was also grateful she’d chosen to do this alone, without assistance. The last thing she needed was a gaggle of servants gossiping about Jazz’s reaction to the shower, and for that talk to get back to the attentive audios of Mirage and her other opponents in court.

“Here,” Prowl said when it was safe to approach again without fear of being drenched. “Y’can finish dryin’ off with this’n then get dressed.”

Curiously Jazz took the towel. She petted it a few times, marvelling at its softness, but Prowl didn’t have to worry about explaining how to use it. Jazz quickly stepped (not ran) out of the shower stall to rub herself off and dry.

Prowl picked up the first piece of armor and held it ready for her when she’d finished. “Yer gorgeous, y’know that?”

_ That _ got Jazz over her strange encounter with the shower quickly. She preened. “Yep. Gorgeous.” She grinned at Prowl.

She should know better by now (Jazz had NO shame), but the blatant admission still shocked Prowl for a moment. “Also such a  _ cat,”  _ she added, passing the armor to Jazz.

“So’re ya,” Jazz teased back. “Gorgeous shipcat.” She finished tying on the armored belt and stroked Prowl’s chevron suggestively before taking the pauldron.

“Ain’t a shipcat,” Prowl said, playing on the semantics. “I  _ have  _ a shipcat. One I’m gonna have t’track down before we go see th’king again.”

_ “Are _ a shipcat,” Jazz insisted. “She’s yer spirit.”

“She’s a pest.” A loveable pest, but still. “Always leavin’ kills in m’things.”

Jazz looked hurt, like Prowl’s refusal of those gifts was a personal rejection. “Don’t like food-gifts?”

“Do like ‘em!” Prowl didn’t have anything against gifts of food at all! “I just like ‘em better when it’s somethin’ I like eatin’.” And days-dead, partially-dismembered glitchmice carcasses didn’t meet that criteria.

“Y’ever try tellin’ ‘er what y’like?” Jazz asked curiously as she attached the last wrist-piece and started fussing with getting the two sarong to hang right around the armored belt and greaves.

“I… no,” Prowl said, fairly certain the only thing she’d ever done was tell Sundance what she  _ didn’t  _ like when she stumbled across something new that didn’t belong in her books or spell components. “I hadn’t thought’a that.”

Jazz practically radiated smugness as she arranged the hikurere over and around her pauldrons. Prowl hadn’t noticed last time, but she did it differently, draping the shawl over the pauldrons and then letting the ends hang free, instead of wrapping them around to hang in the back, placing the magnets on the pauldrons themselves to secure it in place. The strap holding her weapons went over her shoulder, securing them to her back. Arcee’s stolen sword, Prowl was amused to note, was displayed prominently.

Prowl hadn’t thought to ask the servants headed to her rooms to bring her Polyhexian ornaments down so she could wear them too. It would delay them further to send someone for them now, but she decided it would be worth it.

“Hang on a sec,” she said, leaving Jazz to her task long enough to step out of the ‘racks and commandeer the first servant she saw. “I wanna wear mine too,” she explained when she returned.

Jazz grinned. She hugged her, stroking over the ketzal feathers trailing from Prowl’s arm… which she hadn’t realized she was still wearing. “Yer beautiful without ‘em, but I like seein’ y’wear ‘em.”

“I feel prettier with ‘em,” Prowl admitted shyly. Jazz might have no problem accepting compliments on her appearance — or even just outright bragging about herself — but she wasn’t as confident. Especially, frustratingly, here in the capital where she knew she was being judged on everything and coming up short in too many places. That was why the ornaments had been tucked away in the first place. Now, though… “I want us t’match. I want ‘em t’see I’m yers’n yer mine.”

Jazz rocked on her armored heels excitedly.

The servant who returned with her things looked confused as to what to do with them. Prowl motioned him to just leave them and turned to Jazz for help. “Wouldja do th’knots fer me?” she asked, holding out the first sarong.

“Yes!”

It was worth it, even if she had to keep fending off Jazz’s attempts to arouse her. When she was finished, they certainly made for a matched set, Prowl with the ketzal feathers marking her as a priest-mage and Jazz with the weapons and armor that marked her as warrior.

“All that’s missing now is the cat,” Shadow remarked, louder than he’d meant to judging by his expression when Prowl turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, Imperial Princess. I simply meant that you make quite a sight together.”

“A good sight, I hope. But yes, it is time to retrieve Lady Sundance and make our way to the dining hall.”

This time Jazz didn’t let Prowl hook her arm; she grabbed Prowl’s hand, stroking her wrist with a smirk.

They found Sundance scratching dejectedly at the kitchen door.

“Uh oh. Did somebody get locked out for being a pest?” Prowl reached down and scritched her ears. “Come on, it’s time for dinner. There’ll be plenty to eat there.”

_ “Wasn’t _ being a pest!” the cat yowled, scratching again at the door before abandoning it as boring to twine her way around Prowl’s feet. “And dinners in the big room are boring.”

“Oh, don’t worry, this one won’t be boring,” Prowl promised, picking her up so she wouldn’t trip on her. “This one will be full of all kinds of carefully veiled opinions and disapproval.” And Prowl would hear about it all afterward, since while most knew mages could talk to their familiars, few realized they were intelligent enough to eavesdrop. And Sundance was smarter than most.

The cat sniffed. “Boring. Stuck with boring pet food and no treats.”

“You’ll get treats later.” If she didn’t somehow manage to finagle some at dinner anyway. Silverstreak had a habit of discreetly “dropping” things when Sundance was at the table. Hands full, Prowl waggled an elbow at Jazz, who immediately took her up on the invitation to touch… even if she still avoided linking arms and instead settled clawed fingers along Prowl’s plating instead. Prowl smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Right. They were ready. As they set off for the dining room together though, Prowl wondered. Was the court ready for them?

.

.

.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Jazz did a fairly good job of not derailing them on the way to the dining hall. She kept her hold on Prowl’s arm, switching to her hand when Sundance moved to perch on Prowl’s shoulder, even though her steps slowed from time to time so she could look at things. Shadow was taking the opportunity to look around too; while he’d been to the capital before, he’d never been inside the palace. Prowl wondered what both of them would make of the splendor of the “boring” dining room, as her cat put it.

Once again when they arrived, Jazz jumped and hissed at the herald when they were announced, then she got her first real look at the dining room and fell quiet, stopping in place to stare.

One wall was dominated by glass windows and a breathtaking view of the city and the mountains beyond it — an unimaginable luxury in a defensive castle, where windows were usually kept small, or nonexistent. Decorative arches lined the other walls of the room, framing an enormous ring-shaped table lit by three massive crystal chandeliers. There was a pathway for servants to come up from the kitchens via a set of stairs inside the ring to easily serve the nobles seated around the table without crowding them. At the very center of that ring was a stage, where anything that amused the king could be displayed.

Prowl remembered troupes of acrobats and other performances on that stage, but today a giant ice statue was there. A Praxan galleon, dramatically cresting a wave large enough to have been made in a storm. Beautiful and detailed as it was, she sensed Mirage’s hand in the choice of decor.

“This’s gonna be a bit like th’party in Hightower t’start,” Prowl said to Jazz as they made their way into the room. She was relieved to note the king himself had yet to arrive, though the majority of the court all had and were milling around, waiting for permission to be seated. “Everyone wanders’n talks a bit while we’re waitin’ fer th’king — the herald’ll announce ‘im when ‘e arrives — and then we sit at th’table t’eat.”

“Or under it,” Sundance sniffed from her perch, but didn’t jump down just yet. “The effort some mechs put into begging for tidbits of favor from the king, perhaps there should be more places set on the floor.”

Prowl almost choked.

Jazz was still admiring the room when Mirage slithered over to them through the crowd. Speaking of mechs begging favors from the king…

“Imperial Princess. Warrior Jazz.” He looked them both over and his gaze lingered on the valuable pearls of Jazz’s attire. Prowl’s necklace was a king’s ransom in pearls, but she was royal and the court had gotten acclimatized to her wearing it; the pearls on Jazz’s (just as numerous as on Prowl’s) were a casual demonstration of Polyhexian wealth. “You both look very… un-imperial. It’s very becoming.”

“What a shame you were unable to emulate the fashion then,” Prowl returned with a perfectly innocuous smile, “if you find it so favorable.”

“Can have this one,” Jazz announced as Shadow finished translating. She stripped off one of her bracelets, one of the ones made of cloth and shells, and generously held it out to the noble as though it was worth a king’s ransom itself.

Sundance snickered.

Taken aback both by the loud voice and suddenly having the bit of jewelry thrust in his face, Mirage could only blink at the gift in bafflement.

“My intended offers you a gift,” Prowl said with an amused flick of her doorwings. “Is she not generous?”

“Very,” Mirage gritted out while he recovered. He took the bracelet and offered an empty smile at Jazz. By the standards of Praxus, the shells might be worth quite a bit — the ones on that bracelet could probably feed a commoner family for a couple of deca-cycles — but they wouldn’t make a difference to Mirage’s personal fortunes or the ones of Praxus as a whole. And now, perhaps even more galling, he was stuck wearing the bit of torn and twisted sailcloth around his wrist for the rest of the evening, in front of the king. “Please offer my thanks to your intended,” he offered without sincerity. “It’s… extraordinary.”

A clear, feminine laugh rang out. “As long as you’re giving out gifts,” Arcee addressed Jazz directly despite the language barrier as she joined them, “does that mean I can get my gladius back?”

Jazz had already turned to look at her by the time Shadow finished translating. “Nope!” she said cheerfully. “S’my long-knife.”

“I’m afraid she’s under the rightful impression that it is  _ her  _ sword,” Prowl smiled at her former intended. Any interruption from Mirage would have been welcome, but Arcee was more than an escape — she was a friend. “So she won’t be returning it.”

“Prowl’s  _ my _ mate too,” Jazz said firmly. “Mine.”

Shadow looked helplessly at Prowl, unable to figure out how soften that into a diplomatic statement.

“Never mind,” Arcee said to him. “I can guess what that was myself. You did prove yourself a better bondmate  _ for Prowl, _ though I wouldn’t mind a rematch,” she grasped the sword — a new gladius — resting at her waist pointedly. As a Paladin of Primus, she never divested herself of her weapon, much like Jazz as a warrior — not a soldier — never went without hers. They were part of their rank. “You had an unfair advantage last time.”

“Keh!” Jazz scoffed. “Y’want five’r six more’a yer guards, along with yer priest-mage an’ hound-master? Ain’t a match fer th’fishing cat.”

“You won’t be able to surprise me by biting this time, or swim circles around me in non-existent waters.”

Mirage seethed where he stood, unable to leave because he hadn’t been dismissed or given a graceful exit, but suddenly finding himself completely superfluous to a conversation about more martial topics. Prowl contained her glee at the situation, though Sundance was snickering again at the noble’s plight. “You would be able to have a fair test of combat this time,” she pointed out with an ironic smile, “since you would no longer be playing keep-away with my unconscious frame. I would actually have a chance to watch!”

Shadow echoed the words, and Prowl could see that he was intensely curious about what they were talking about. Everyone knew Jazz had kidnapped Prowl (fewer knew that Prowl had then kidnapped Jazz in return), but the specifics hadn’t all made their way out into the rumor mills.

Jazz whipped around to face Prowl. “Yes! Will!” She preened. “Will fight ‘er right here.”

“Will  _ not!”  _ Prowl exclaimed before Shadow could say anything, falling into Polyhexian herself. “This ain’t a fightin’ space. ‘F y’wanna have a fight, y’should use th’yard.” The garrison would cede it to them immediately for a chance to witness the spectacle.

Jazz digested that, obviously taken aback by the vehemence of Prowl’s objection. “Can go now?” she offered tentatively, like she was suddenly sure she was misinterpreting something.

“Need t’stay fer dinner now,” Prowl said more gently. “Y’should work out a time together fer later when yer both not busy. It’ll give ya a bigger audience,” she said, hoping that would make Jazz happy.

“Y’will be there? Come watch m’fight?” She preened, though Prowl could see the undercurrent of uncertainty in the confident gesture.

“Absolutely.” Prowl smiled at her encouragingly, then turned to Arcee. “Jazz would welcome the opportunity for a true sparring session with you in the near future,” she said.

Shadow hadn’t translated the exchange between Prowl and Jazz, tactfully keeping the cultural miscommunication private. Despite that, Mirage hadn’t missed it; he masked any reaction, but Prowl was certain he was calculating how to use it.

Arcee also hadn’t missed it, but she was much more understanding. “Tonight after dinner? Or tomorrow morning? I can arrange to have the salle reserved for us at either time.”

Prowl let Shadow step back in again, relaying Arcee’s offer to Jazz.

Instead of answering right away, Jazz looked at Prowl. “Tonight?”

The first session of wedding planning and contract negotiations wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Since they’d only just arrived, the rest of the day was their own. “‘S fine,” Prowl said, knowing that either way they’d have plenty of spectators.

“Then as soon as th’ritual is done here, y’an’ I’ll fight.” Jazz said to Arcee, regaining her bounce.

“I look forward to it,” Arcee answered, once Shadow had translated.

That would have been a natural point in the conversation for Mirage to express a similar sentiment and then take his leave, but he was prevented from doing either by the herald calling out the arrival of the king.

“His Most Honorable Imperial Highness, King Bluestreak and his heir, the Imperial Prince Silverstreak!”

Everyone in the room turned to look as they made their entrance. Both had already been appropriately arrayed for a formal dinner earlier, and so their appearances weren’t really any different. The king let his optics survey the room leisurely, taking everything in rather than focusing on individuals or details, but the prince’s optics went straight to Jazz — and did a barely perceptible, but still visible, double take when he saw Prowl.

Their arrival was everyone’s signal to find their places, though no one would sit until the king did. Mirage glided off into the suddenly moving crowd of people; Arcee paused to give Prowl a bow as she did the same. Everyone seemed to have an idea of where they should sit. Prowl wasn’t actually entirely sure of her place, or Jazz’s, however. Usually she would be seated next to Silverstreak on the king’s right, while Mirage was on his left. That would put Jazz on Mirage’s left, three chairs away from her, and Prowl could just imagine how Jazz would react to that. Fortunately, it looked like Mirage was headed not for the left side of the table, but the right — meaning he would be at her usual place, while she and Jazz sat together beside the king.

“C’mon,” Prowl said, taking Jazz’s hand. “‘S time fer th’meal. They’ll bring th’food to us so we don’t need t’git up once we’re sittin’ down.”

“Kay.”

To her relief, she saw she had guessed right as they drew close: place cards with her and Jazz’s names (“Jazz” being rendered with the most common transliteration; Prowl was going to have to get the one they’d worked out disseminated quickly) sat at the two places directly to the king’s left. Shadow would stand behind Jazz during the meal.

Jazz eyed the chairs speculatively, evaluating Prowl’s.

“Y’sit in  _ that  _ one,” Prowl said, remembering the incident with Ultra Magnus’ chair. It had been excusable then, in a private setting with a large enough chair to physically accommodate them both, but here, having her try to squeeze in beside her (or Primus forbid, in her lap!) was just not going to work. “One person to a chair.”

Jazz sighed. “Kay.”

Conversations died down as the king waited, standing and watching everyone taking their places. When it was all quiet, he regally took his throne. Next to him, Silverstreak followed suit, along with everyone else.

“Let us all celebrate the safe return of the Imperial Princess and her intended,” Bluestreak said grandly, looking out over the table. “It is a pleasure to have them both here.”

And that, officially, was the signal for the meal to begin.

“I was glad to hear of your arrival,” he said in a much quieter voice, turning and looking at Prowl at last. “We were expecting a longer delay, considering all the snow.”

Absently she listened to the mech on Jazz’s other side introduce himself as Litmus, ambassador to Kaon, retired. Shadow struggled to convey the concept of a “retired ambassador” as Prowl answered the king. “The captain and his mechs did a remarkable job seeing that the weather had as little an impact on our journey as possible,” she said. Silverstreak was leaning forward to listen to their conversation, and Sundance promptly took the opportunity to hop down and vanish beneath the table. Prowl saw the prince look down briefly and mouth a silent “Hello!” as she settled at his feet. “I had expected the snow to be a novelty to Jazz, but it turns out there are mountains in Polyhex tall enough to see snow as well.”

“Interesting! I thought the islands too hot for snow as well,” the king agreed. “All of these things we’re learning about those parts of the map usually marked with  _ Here be Dragons.” _ Which was much more polite than the  _ other _ thing that marked the edges of maps of the Rust Sea —  _ Pirate Waters _ — given the circumstances.

“Are there any? Dragons, I mean,” Silverstreak interrupted, his curiosity getting the better of his self-control.

Were there? “As I have not yet visited the islands, I cannot say for certain,” Prowl said, touching the pointed edges of her hikurere, “but Jazz did say this was called a ‘dragon shawl’.” And the shape certainly looked like dragon wings were said to. “Perhaps there really are.”

“That would be quite a find,” Bluestreak interjected, “if there are. There have always been stories about dragons, but no one has ever been able to prove the creatures existed.”

Personally, Prowl hoped to find one for the sheer joy of discovery, but she could see the more material interest the king (and to a greater extent, Mirage) had in the subject. Yet for all the strange, exotic things Polyhexians brought to Hightower, she had not heard of anything claiming to be the parts, products or possessions of dragons. That didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t exist, of course; they could simply be rare, or dangerous and hard to find, even for such masters of the sea.

Servants started bringing out plates filled with the first course. Meant to be conversation pieces rather than filling, each person was given a sculpture of flat planes and curved ribbons made of crystallized, sweetened energon. The king’s was the most magnificent, of course, depicting a large gold crystal flower nestled in a lacey spray of leaves, suspended by fragile ribbons of gold and accented with spheres of two different shades of gold. Mechs and femmes clapped softly as it was brought out and presented.

Prowl’s was only slightly less magnificent. Being smaller, done in shades of red and green, and having a subtle, clear support under her flower, it wasn’t as fragile but still quite intricate. Silverstreak’s sculpture was blue, but instead of depicting something specific, the confection was comprised of a collection of delicate, hollow swirls. The abstract shapes balanced almost precariously on each other in places, highlighting the richness of the color and the precision of the piece and clearly delighting the prince.

As the honored guest, Jazz’s was actually nicer than Prowl’s: black as ink lines created the shape of a flame rising in the air with accents of small gold spheres and white crystal flowers scattered along the curling tendrils. The most remarkable thing about it, however, was the use of almost invisible pieces of clear confectionary to connect some of the colored elements, creating the illusion that they were floating, unsupported, above the plate.

Further down the table, the sculptures were much shorter and simpler, though each was skillfully made and contained small, breakaway bits designed to be nibbled on without damaging the overall effect of the pieces.

Jazz cooed, touching hers gently. “S’pretty.”

“It’s impressive,” Shadow translated.

“It is,” Litmus answered on Jazz’s other side. “The cook has outdone herself. Does Polyhex have anything similar?”

Prowl rather doubted it. Everything Jazz had ever said about Polyhexian food indicated that their cuisine was practical and portable. Creating something to look at instead of eat probably wouldn’t make much sense to them.

“Nope.” Jazz answered. “What is it?”

“‘S solidified fuel put together t’show off how good an artist y’got in th’kitchens.” Which sounded a little silly when said that way, but it was the truth. “Fer talkin’ about.”

Jazz wrinkled her nose.

“Maybe Polyhexians don’t have edible sculptures like this,” Litmus put in when Jazz didn’t say anything further. “But they must have crafts of equal beauty.”

“Sure,” Jazz answered the question once translated. Her attention was still mostly on her sculpture, as though trying to figure out how it  _ could _ be eaten. “We got th’best artists in th’world.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I wonder what mine’s an interpretation of?” Silverstreak’s question drew Prowl’s attention away from the conversation of Polyhexian artists. “It almost looks like it could be moving.”

“There is a certain fluid quality to it,” Prowl agreed, though it was the wrong color for waves on the Rust Sea. “Perhaps it is a fountain in the garden with all these flowers.”

“I like that!” He broke off a piece — one of the small pieces meant to be broken off — and then broke that in half, discreetly sliding one of them under the table to Sundance. She was  _ not  _ so discreet, with her audial flaps peeking up over the edge of the table.

“And does it meet with your approval?” Prowl whispered to her, breaking off a piece for herself from her own sculpture.

“More!” the cat meowed, butting her head against Silverstreak’s hand.

Bluestreak, for his part, seemed content to remain silent and let his heir and once-heir converse casually.

“You have a greedy cat,” Silverstreak said, petting her. “There are times I wish I’d shown any aptitude for magecraft, instead of archery, because then I could have a familiar like yours.”

“You could still have a cat someday, if you truly wanted,” Prowl said, though a regular cat would be very different from Sundance, as any pet would be from a mage familiar or spirit guide. “In any case, the skill you do have is quite impressive. Arcee said that you were the most promising archer she has ever seen.”

“I’m not that good,” Silverstreak said shyly. Prowl would have continued to praise him, but just then several mental alarm bells began going off as Litmus turned the conversation with Jazz from Polyhexian artists to the materials they worked with.

“That’s interesting that craftsmechs take a hand in gathering their own material,” Litmus was saying, allowing pauses for Shadow to finish translating. Subtly he flared out his dark blue doors, as though to “unintentionally” attempt to intimidate. As most ambassadors were, he was a classic Praxan frame, promoting the idea of frametype unity that was an important part of the Praxan identity. Not all Praxans had that frametype, of course — Mirage, Ultra Magnus, Sentinel, and Shadow were all examples of mechs who didn’t — but Praxus had often defined itself by that frametype. It was a point of pride that most of the population were “classically” Praxan, and that all the hotspots that produced that frametype even some of the time were within Praxan borders. “If I wanted to follow in their tire tracks, where might I find such things?”

“Could always try in the river,” Sundance peeped her nose up over the side of the table, “since you like fishing so much.”

Silverstreak, assuming she was just after more sweets, distracted both her and himself feeding her another crystallized wafer, leaving Prowl free to run interference for Jazz. “Given the time of year, I can think of no local material quicker to source than ice and snow,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him with a nod to the frozen galleon on display. “It’s quite versatile as a medium as well.”

“Thank you for the advice, Imperial Princess,” the former ambassador smiled sincerely, as though this had been his aim all along.

“Yeah!” Jazz exclaimed once Shadow’s translation caught up. “That thing’s great. Y’can even see th’,” she waved her hand at the sculpture in excitement, “thingies on th’side. I’m gonna have’ta tell m’clan about it. It’ll be good fer trainin’ t’have a model like that.”

Shadow faltered. “It looks useful,” he said diplomatically.

Privately Prowl was glad that there was no way to transport that particular “model”, both due to its size and the fact that it would melt. “The artist will appreciate you noticing his attention to detail,” she said in Praxan for Litmus’ benefit, even though she was speaking to Jazz. “He must have worked for hours and hours to complete something of this scale and magnitude.”

“Sure!” Apparently done with waiting, Jazz finally broke into her crystallized energon statue — only instead of breaking off one of the smaller pieces to nibble on, she used her claws to shatter the whole thing, leaving a collection of mostly-black shards scattered on and around her plate. “That’s pretty neat too.” She smiled and finally started eating the sweetened bits.

“What an… unconventional approach,” Prowl heard Mirage say  _ just  _ loud enough to be heard in the sudden quiet.

Jazz noticed Litmus and other mechs nearby staring and she puffed her armor proudly. She picked up the biggest piece of black energon and offered it to Litmus. “Want one?”

“No, thank you,” the mech replied and Jazz’s visor lit up.

“I understood that,” she crowed to Prowl. She held the piece out to the other femme. “Can I feed ya?”

Shadow, thankfully, did  _ not _ translate that.

“Not at th’table,” Prowl replied, though she did go ahead and break off a larger piece of her own sculpture to offer back. “Trade ya?”

Jazz grinned.

Slowly conversations started up again. Prowl refused to wince at how many of them were about the Imperial Princess’ and the barbarian’s lack of decorum. The only bright spot was that the king held his peace, not commenting.

_ Shing! Clatter-crash! _

For the second time the room went silent, only this time it was the  _ Imperial Prince _ everyone was staring at over a pile of broken bits of blue energon. He grinned shamelessly. “They’re easier to share this way,” he announced, before selecting a piece and offering it to the king.

“I do not believe they were designed with sharing in mind,” Bluestreak said mildly, unsurprisingly not following suit by shattering his sculpture even though he didn’t deliver any further rebukes. “Since you have already seen fit to share these regardless, however,” he took the piece from Silverstreak and held it out to Prowl, “it would be a waste not to.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Prowl said submissively, accepting the energon shard along with the indulgence it represented.

Jazz grinned and poked Prowl, holding a handful of her own shards, gesturing for it to be passed to the king and Silverstreak. Obediently Prowl took them and did just that, grateful things hadn’t gone any worse than that.

She tried not to flinch visibly as, almost as if to test her further, Sundance picked that very moment to (loudly) chase down one of the pieces that had fallen off the table. The hard energon clattered as she batted it across the floor before finally pouncing it into submission, leaving no question in anyone’s mind what she was doing or how it had been made possible.

Eventually the servants came around to collect the remains of the statues — broken and not. Jazz put up a bit of a fuss at the energon going to waste, but Prowl quietly assured her it wasn’t; it was only being taken to be shared further among the clan. It wasn’t even a lie. The servants and their friends never ate as well as when the court gathered for a large event.

The next two courses were served simultaneously: liquid energon and trays of gelled treats. Like the sculptures, the treats were intricate works of art, meant to be discussed rather than to fill the tank, while the tall flutes of liquid… Prowl had to remind herself there was  _ no way _ Jazz had mixed these drinks, and she didn’t need to worry about the taste. They were beautiful. Shades of red and gold layered to create the scene of a beautiful sunset over the Rust Sea. Garnishing each glass was a long skewer, with a single pellet Prowl recognized as an oxidized hexbug of some kind, sticking out of the drink.

Her first thought was to check that not all the glasses had them; specifically, that Arcee’s didn’t. A quick glance down the table put that worry to rest, and Prowl relaxed a little. That would have been a bigger mess than the shattered sculptures to sort out. As it was, she could simply enjoy trying to puzzle out what sort of hexbug she’d received as a garnish.

“I’ve never seen these before!” Silverstreak was holding his drink up to examine the skewered hexbug curiously. “Do we have your intended to thank for them?” he asked, rather astutely guessing they were one of Jazz’s gifts.

Other, similar exclamations went around the table; Prowl even heard one follower of Primus wondering why he hadn’t gotten one. Bluestreak, mirroring his heir, held up the drink to examine it.

Since Jazz was currently occupied with crunching her hexbug enthusiastically (and since it would circumvent the chances of her blurting out something that Shadow would have to struggle with), Prowl took the opportunity to explain. “The garnishes some of you have received are a gift from my intended. They are traditional in Polyhex among sailors, though due to their nature they are not appropriate to serve to followers of Primus.”

That set the room talking again, speculating as to what the strange things could be.

“So what are they?” Litmus leaned toward Jazz, brandishing his.

Jazz shrugged and popped one of the gels in her mouth to avoid answering, the first sign that overtly indicated she might be becoming stressed by the dinner. Usually she was so brash… probably the more brash the more uncertain she was, in fact. But it seemed she was done blurting out answers to questions she didn’t understand. Prowl’s spark went out to her. It couldn’t be easy for her, always seeming to say or do the wrong thing. She wasn’t stupid, she could see how her actions shocked and dismayed people around her.

Being confined to the chair probably wasn’t helping either, Prowl forced herself to consider. Jazz rarely sat still, and the enforced distance between the diners meant she couldn’t retreat to her favorite form of self-comfort and assurance — touching and flirting with Prowl.

Prowl reached over to her beneath the table, seeking out her hand. She could offer that much, at least, for now. “Are there any regional delicacies you miss from Kaon?” she asked Litmus, drawing his attention away from pestering Jazz. “Your last visit must have been a while ago.”

“Not too long ago, Imperial Princess,” the mech switched his focus easily enough; ignoring the princess wasn’t a great political strategy, even if she was currently less than fully favored by the court. “My heir and I only just returned to Praxus, after being recalled for our safety. I will miss it though,” he said wistfully. “One way or another, I won’t be returning to Kaon when the conflict there is over, and no matter how many times I ask, the cooks here just won’t put enough iron in their Kaonex-inspired gels.”

“I encountered similar difficulties upon my return from Hightower last vorn.” Though, in Verdine’s defense, many of the tastes Prowl missed weren’t ones the castle stocked at all. Adding more iron to a gel was an easier remedy than trying to come up with something that mimicked the taste of a kelapa without even a single one of the seed crystals available for comparison. “Why would you be unable to return to Kaon?”

Shadow continued to translate their conversation for Jazz, but she didn’t look like she was really following it very well. She did notice Prowl’s hand, however, and latched onto it fiercely.

“My heir, Toluyl, is ready to take over my position,” Litmus explained. “He’s a good mech, bright and loyal. And unknown in the Kaonex senate and court. The king, in his wisdom, has decided that when the conflict is over, and it is again safe for a Praxan ambassador to reside in Kaon, it would be best that ambassador be someone new to the country’s leadership —  _ whoever _ that leadership may be.”

Given the distances involved, the king must have recalled his ambassadors at least a month before Prowl had even left for Hightower. And to already be preparing for the possibility that the rebels would win the country… “Things do seem to be moving very quickly,” she said, feeling somewhat anxious. She’d known that a civil war was inevitable, and that the leader of Kaon’s senate had begun pulling troops from the border to put it down, but she’d thought the rebellion to still be its early stages “It hardly feels like any time has passed since the turmoil began, and already it’s grown so much.”

“Believe me, it’s even worse inside Kaon.” Litmus let his voice turn serious. “It started as some gladiator’s rhetoric, and then it seemed that within a few months, that same gladiator was leading a revolt in the mines outside the city of Nakuria. The senate sent troops immediately, but by the time they had arrived, the rebels had taken the city too. Now…” He shrugged his doors. “Truthfully, Imperial Princess, I was glad to be recalled when I was. I was probably a week from being thrown out of the Kaonex court over our king’s understandable refusal to send troops to help put down the rebellion.”

“I am glad you are no longer at risk of that!” Depending on the people and emotions involved, being thrown out of court ranged from being relatively harmless (from a physical standpoint, it was always politically destructive) to outright deadly. Given the volatile nature of the situation in Kaon, Litmus probably had been in a certain amount of real, mortal danger. It made Prowl grateful for the foresight of both the king and of Iacon’s Prime in beginning negotiations for an alliance by marriage vorn ago. Despite the trouble caused by Jazz and the hasty renegotiations, Praxus and Iacon would support each other through whatever conflicts were to come. “How can a single gladiator have turned an entire sovereign nation on its head so fast?”

“Magic.” Litmus hung his head. “Demon summoning, if you believe the whispers at court. Eutaxy, Iacon’s ambassador, believed those whispers credible enough that, last I’d heard at least, he’d sent for a cleric or Paladin from the Church in Iacon to come make an evaluation. I don’t know anything about  _ demons _ of course,” he lowered his voice, so as not to be heard by those nearest him, except Shadow and Jazz, “but the reports say the rebel leader can fling spells as powerful as any wizard’s, and is untouchable by the mages of the army. That his words can whip an army into a frenzy, and lend each fighter unnatural strength.”

Shadow’s translation faltered. “I’m sorry, Imperial Princess. I don’t know the words in Polyhexian to explain this to your intended. There aren’t words for different kinds of magic.” That he knew of, he didn’t say.

Prowl didn’t know any other words either. “We can hope that their borders will contain such phenomena,” she said, hardly so naive as to think they really would. She glanced over at Silverstreak, who had finally decided to taste the garnish in his drink and was exclaiming over the unique texture and flavor with pure, unadulterated happiness. His education was going to wind up somewhat rushed compared to hers, given the political climate. And what an irony it was that one of the problems her bonding with Jazz had created was the need for a second heir, when they might just be entering one of the only situations where having a second heir was desirable.

It explained the support Bluestreak had given for her spending a whole vorn with her bonded’s people. Of course he wanted her to stop the attacks on Praxan ships and bring back fighters, and probably wanted her out of Praxus so she couldn’t try and take the throne. But the trip also conveniently put her someplace where she was, if not completely safe, at least safe from assassination or death on a battlefield.

Now she held onto Jazz’s hand not just to comfort her intended, but also for a bit of comfort herself.

“What’sa matter?” Jazz asked, noticing the change in her grip.

“There’s a lotta fightin’ in Kaon that might not stay there,” Prowl said, simplifying the situation as best she could. “An’ they got priest-mages doin’ things that’re scary. Things our priest-mages don’t understand.”

Jazz still didn’t understand — it was obvious she didn’t. And why would she? For her fighting was a seasonal affair, and the consequences were short term only. Jazz could attack Stepper’s clan, then brag to his face about it during the next trade— _ harvest _ season.

“Could—”

“Don’t have’ta,” Prowl said before Jazz could make any promises she couldn’t keep. Even words in a language most of the mechs and femmes present couldn’t understand had the potential to be taken the wrong way. The sentiment was sweet, and her willingness alone made Prowl feel better. She didn’t need to say anything to convey those things. “It’s still their fight fer now.”

“Kay.” Jazz subsided. “When’s th’fight with Arcee? Y’said y’would come watch!”

Prowl couldn’t blame her for wanting the dinner over either.

“Is there a problem?” Litmus asked, since Shadow hadn’t translated the exchange between the Princess and her intended.

“Not a problem, no,” Prowl replied, taking the opportunity to change the subject to something a little less grim. “My intended was reminded of the match she has planned with the Iaconi princess by our talk of combat.”

“That certainly should be exciting,” Litmus readily changed the subject. “The prowess of both the Paladins of Primus and Polyhexian raiders is legendary.” By which he obviously meant  _ probably exaggerated. _ “I look forward to seeing how they measure up to Kaon’s gladiators.”

Servants started to come around to clear away the remaining fuel in preparation for the next course. Of course no one had finished their liquid or treats, since finishing wasn’t the point. Jazz, however, seemed to think otherwise. Snatching her glass to her chest, she hissed at the servant who’d tried to take it from her.

“Continue around the table,” Prowl instructed the servants, holding onto her (still untasted) glass as well. “Then come back so she has a chance to finish it.”

She got plenty of looks but no arguments over that, so Prowl considered it close enough to a victory. “There’s one more round’a drinks comin’,” she told Jazz. “‘S why they’re clearin’ these, so they’ll be back t’take yer glass once yer done with it.” Intending to hand her own glass back whether she finished it or not, Prowl finally took a sip of the sunset concoction. It was  _ marvelous;  _ no wonder Jazz didn’t want to give it up!

“S’good,” Jazz said, echoing Prowl’s thought. “Mine.”

Prowl saw her paying attention to where the servants were as she drank, not rushing but obviously meaning to be done before they tried again to take her fuel away! For herself, Prowl sipped slowly but steadily, engaging Silverstreak in a brief conversation that even Bluestreak added a few comments to about what the sunset really looked over the Rust Sea.

“It was one of the first things that struck me on my initial visit to Hightower,” Prowl remembered. “The sun on the water is a genuinely breathtaking sight.” And that was just from the city — out  _ on  _ the water, it was even more magical.

“Perhaps someday I’ll get to see it,” Silverstreak said wistfully.

“Aka!” Jazz exclaimed as she finished her drink before the servants came back. “Told ya.  _ Mine.” _

“Be pretty hard t’take it from ya now,” Prowl grinned.

“S’pretty cup,” Jazz said speculatively.

“That part y’gotta give back. Sorry.”

“Don’t  _ gotta,” _ she insisted.

“Do,” Prowl insisted back. “No stealing things, remember?”

“Keh,” she huffed, but when the servant came to retrieve the glasses, she put it down so it could be taken.

The last course was a small glass of highgrade cordial. Meant to loosen the tongue to talk about other subjects rather than  _ be _ talked about like the other courses, it was still a beautiful drink. Blue bubbles of sweetened energon were suspended in the absolutely clear highgrade, some rising to the top to pop with a burst of fragrance but most remaining in the liquid, clinging to the sides of the glass.

Jazz took one sip and purred in appreciation, but then set the small glass aside. “Y’want mine, beautiful?”

After her insistence on finishing the last drink, Prowl was somewhat surprised. “Really? Y’don’t wanna finish th’rest yerself?”

“S’ _ highgrade,” _ the trade argot word was a bastardized Praxan one. “I know better’n t’fight with much’a that in m’systems.”

“Ohh.” Well that made perfect sense. A quick look down the table proved that Arcee had had the same idea, foregoing the final course in favor of their upcoming duel. “Hadn’t thought’a that.”

“Does she not like it?” Litmus leaned over to ask curiously. “I want to know how they made the bubbles. They aren’t quite liquid or solid, but not a gel either.”

Shadow didn’t immediately translate that, since when Jazz started talking to Prowl he tended to drop back and let their conversations remain (relatively) private and without distraction, so Jazz wasn’t aware of Litmus talking around her to ask Prowl whether or not she liked the drink. Rude! as she would have said. “You could always ask her what she thinks of it,” Prowl said more diplomatically. “I can’t say I’m familiar with the technique they use to achieve this particular effect myself, but I do rather like the result.” This time she didn’t let the conversation stop her from taking a sip. Mmm… she wondered just how much gossip there would be over her drinking Jazz’s glass as well as her own.  _ She  _ didn’t need to be clear-headed for a fight, and this dinner had been trying in more ways than one.

“My apologies,” Litmus left off her title, leaving it ambiguous whether the apology was directed at her or Jazz. Properly chastised, he was formal as he addressed the Polyhexian directly. “Warrior Jazz, might I ask your opinion of the drink?”

“S’good! But I gotta fight after. Prowl’s gonna watch!”

“The drink is fine,” Shadow translated. “But I have a duel with the Princess Arcee of Iacon after dinner and want to remain clear headed.” He left off the part about Prowl watching.

Idly, Prowl wondered why Jazz kept coming back to that. Of  _ course _ she was going to watch! It promised to be a most impressive fight. Impressive enough that she would hardly be the  _ only  _ one watching, either. So why was it so important she was there, specifically? Was it because they were mates? But that didn’t make any sense. Surely Polyhexian mates enjoyed watching each other demonstrate their skills as much as any Praxan.

Prowl listened closely as they continued to talk, in case the former ambassador turned the conversation back toward how to find Polyhexian materials or how useful Polyhexian warriors might be on  _ other _ kinds of battlefields. Luckily, he didn’t. He spent most of the last course of the meal pestering Jazz for her evaluation of Arcee’s prowess (which even Prowl knew not to take seriously; according to her mate, Arcee was an okay fighter who needed a contingent of guards to walk across the beach with her sword without tripping over it), then turning around and gossiping to the person next to him.

“Are we invited to watch the bout?” Silverstreak asked at one point, having overheard enough to know what they were doing after the meal. “It sounds exciting.”

“I am sure both my intended and yours would be honored if you came,” Prowl replied, “though of course the whole thing will be very informal.”

“Oh, I know they haven’t set up a tournament or anything,” though as soon as he’d said it, Prowl wondered if that was something Jazz would enjoy or just find frustratingly restrictive, “but I would still like to see it.”

“We can watch together then,” Prowl promised.

“I would find watching very informative as well,” the king put in, “but in the interests of preserving that lack of formality, I will make do with Silverstreak’s account. It will be good practice for him.”

“I will do my best, your majesty,” the prince said, accepting the responsibility. Prowl simply lowered her doors, acknowledging the king’s decision.

That decision, of course, quickly made its way around the table. The king’s words might have been addressed specifically to the Prince and Princess, but they had hardly been private.

Jazz continued to hold Prowl’s hand under the table, but as the court’s attention turned from her current actions to the upcoming bout, Prowl felt her relax a bit. Litmus quizzed her on Polyhexian fighting techniques, but that topic proved difficult for Shadow to translate, fraught with nouns he didn’t know, and rituals Jazz wasn’t allowed to describe. That was interesting. It didn’t surprise her that there might be things she couldn’t talk about with outsiders, but Prowl hadn’t run into it before. Probably because Jazz had considered her adopted the moment she’d been kidnapped. She made a note to follow up on it later, since now wasn’t the time.

Difficult topic to speak of or not, it was a  _ safe _ topic as far as Prowl was concerned, and she let herself relax.

The bubbly cordial helped with that. It was delicious, and warm in all the right ways without burning her tank. Many of the court members didn’t finish theirs, but Prowl hadn’t drunk that much of the sunset-drink that made up the main course; she finished hers and then took Jazz’s almost without realizing.

Jazz’s hand under the table was warm too. Especially with her claws playing lightly over the sensitive spot on her wrist. That made her whole frame warm.

She probably ought to stop, she thought, considering the remaining highgrade in her hand. One glass was enough to make anyone a little tipsy — that was the point — but if she kept going she was going to wind up truly drunk. She was already drunk enough that that prospect wasn’t nearly as worrisome as it should have been, and she forced herself to set down the glass.

It was hard though, not focusing on those feather-light touches on her wrist. Jazz wasn’t looking at her, but there was a smug tilt to her smile that made Prowl certain she was perfectly aware of what she was doing, and continuing to do it on purpose. It took all her self control to keep her fans from getting loud enough to draw attention.

Finally the king stood, prompting everyone else to stand as well.

“This has been a delightful evening, but I am aware you all have something other than the meal on your minds. Please attend them.” Silverstreak and Prowl bowed, prompting the entire room to follow suit while the king excused himself from the table.

The servants hadn’t come around to collect the cordial glasses, since many mechs and femmes carried them with them to finish as they filed out, or clustered around Arcee. Freed from having to stay in the chair, Jazz practically bounced over to Prowl, pressing their frames together. Her fans were running too, a very pleasant vibration that did nothing to help either of them cool down.

“Yer gonna watch m’fight!” Jazz said again, excitedly. One of her hands was suddenly on her doors…

“No mate-touching!” Prowl somewhat awkwardly batted at the hand with her door and reached for the unfinished cordial glass as a distraction. “We’re still in th’dining room in front’a everyone. Anyway y’got a fight t’win first, don’t ya?”

“Do!” And Prowl found herself towed through the crowd toward Arcee. It was obvious Jazz had felt uncomfortable restrained to the chair and was taking the moment to revel in being able to  _ move _ again, so Prowl didn’t stop her, even if it was a little undignified. She licked a splash of the cordial off her hand, then took a sip so it wouldn’t be as prone to splashing again.

“ARE-CEE!” Jazz called loud enough to cut through the din and part the crowd that had gathered around her, deliberately breaking up the foreign name insultingly.

Silverstreak had already eeled through the crowd ahead of them and was standing with his intended, holding her hand. He looked up at Jazz’s shout and actually shuffled back slightly when he saw her; not enough that everyone noticed, but Prowl definitely did. She didn’t blame him either. Jazz could be scary when she was intent on something, and right now she was intent on violence.

“Don’t start fightin’ just yet,” Prowl said quickly, not willing to put that past her intended. “This ain’t a fightin’ room, remember? Arcee’s gonna show ya where y’can fight.”

“Let’s go!”

“I take it you are ready to start?” Arcee didn’t bother waiting for that to be translated or given a response. “I sent someone ahead to prepare the salle. This way,” she gestured, and started off in that direction. Prowl noticed that she deftly maneuvered Silverstreak so he was on her opposite side, placing herself between him and Jazz.

Prowl felt Jazz pulling immediately for them to follow. “Wait, I don’t know where Sundance—” she looked around and saw her cat had jumped up onto the abandoned table and was sniffing at one of the few cordial glasses that had been left behind. Satisfied that she hadn’t been stepped on, Prowl left her to her foraging and let Jazz pull her along until they caught up with Arcee and Silverstreak. “I doubt I need to tell you how much she’s looking forward to this,” she said, smiling at Jazz’s fierce enthusiasm.

“Not at all,” Arcee replied. “I can assure you, I’m every bit as eager for the chance to prove myself better than I did before.”

A good deal of the court followed, even Mirage, chatting and gossiping more freely than they had at the table. As they moved out of the warm interior of the castle to the inner courtyard where the salle was located, the gaggle of nobles was joined by small groups of off-duty guards and soldiers.

The salle itself was mostly just a wide open area filled with sand. Off to one end was a rack of practice weapons, while on the other a pair of archery targets had been set up. It was a pretty short distance for real archery drills, Prowl thought, but supposed it served its purpose for letting beginners or those looking to improve their strength. There was a half-wall running the entire length of the salle to one side for spectators; sometimes, in the depths of harsh winters, tournaments would be held here where it was more sheltered for the entertainment of the king and court, though of course it wasn’t set up for such right now. With the seating (and decorations) currently in storage, everyone watching today would have to stand like the soldiers regularly did while observing their peers.

With a flourish, Jazz whipped off her hikurere and flung it around Prowl’s neck, drawing her in for a kiss. “Fer luck,” she whispered huskily, while a whole new set of mechs and femmes stared at the alien ritual of affection.

Prowl caught the ends of the hikurere in her hand to keep it from sliding off when Jazz stepped back to untie the knots of her sarong. She finished off the last of the cordial in her glass so she could set it aside (Shadow stepped up to take it in the absence of a readily available servant) and waited expectantly to be handed the other cloth ornaments.

Arcee was taking the short moment of preparation to whisper something to SIlverstreak. He still looked nervous, and Prowl wondered if she was trying to prepare him for what he was about to see. Everyone here was probably expecting a formal duel, but Arcee had fought Jazz before. She knew what sort of brawl was really about to go down.

Jazz draped her two sarong over Prowl’s shoulders, arranging them underneath the two hikurere, and kissed her again, sliding her hands over her hips and pressing their chests together. Prowl could feel her systems humming excitedly. “Mmmm…”

“Later,” she said, ignoring the heat in her own systems from the highgrade and the touches as much as possible. She did kiss back though, pressing her lips against Jazz’s eagerly. “Yer gonna amaze everyone.” Probably shock and frighten them too, but definitely amaze them. “Love ya.”

“Love ya, beautiful!” Jazz sang, right as she hopped over the wall and onto the sandy floor beyond. Immediately she bent over, stretching out all the cables in her back and legs (and giving the whole room a nice view of her aft). Prowl hoped no one noticed her staring.

Arcee was much more sedate about entering the field of combat, walking around the wall instead of vaulting it and settling her plating much more subtly. She took up a traditional stance, but her optics were watching Jazz like she expected her to leap at her at any second. Then, foregoing any exchange of bows or phrases, she drew her sword.

Jazz whirled, her own sword coming out in response. Her stance was much less… traditional. By mainlander standards, at least. She crouched over the long-knife, Arcee’s former gladius, like Sundance over one of her kills, her protected shoulders presented as the only target Arcee could strike at, and  _ growled. _ The sound shivered along the spectators’ plating, more felt than heard, igniting some primal instinct to  _ hide. _

Arcee ignored it. With only a slight shake of her shoulders to brush off the intimidation, she raised her sword and rushed at Jazz, taking her first swing. With a truly animalistic snarl, it was a fishing cat possessed Jazz who lunged up to meet her. She took the blow on her shoulders and knocked it away, thrusting at her opponent’s relatively unprotected abdomen with her own sword.

She wasn’t fighting with a shield, so the only thing Arcee could really do was parry or dodge. She chose to dodge, turning her body around the blow so she could bring her sword up for another strike, this time angled to come in below Jazz’s shoulder armor. Jazz took the blow, not reacting as it cut deep into her arm, through her native armor and into the lines below, backhanding Arcee with the flat shield piece on her forearm.

“First blood,” one of the spectators whispered.

In most formal duels, especially between nobles, protocol would dictate the two combatants back off for Jazz to acknowledge the hit and salute her opponent’s skill.

Neither of them paused for a second.

Arcee grunted as she stumbled, thrown off-balance by the lack of resistance and the unexpected blow, and Jazz threw herself at the paladin, using the moment of weakness to bodycheck her with a snarl. She slammed into her hard enough to send Arcee into a controlled tumble, who used the momentum of the blow to carry her far enough away to spring back up with her sword positioned to block when Jazz came at her again.

And come at her again Jazz did. The islander met Arcee’s block with her shielded forearm and knocked the sword away again, clearing the way for another swing of her sword. Unable to block a second time, Arcee let Jazz’s momentum help her dodge, tumbling once more across the floor to come up again further away — this time not without suffering a parting kick from the enraged warrior. Arcee hissed in pain, and Jazz just hissed viciously.

Arcee was obviously trying to keep some distance between herself and the fishing cat possessed femme. Letting her within sword-distance was unavoidable, but if Jazz got inside her guard she wouldn’t be able to attack with her sword, while Jazz could discard her weapon entirely and still attack with teeth and claws. Her comment earlier about biting indicated she was more than aware of that possibility.

Back and forth they went. Jazz advanced and Arcee, inevitably, gave ground rather than let Jazz close in. Maybe there was also an element of intimidation affecting her now as well. Prowl had fought both Jazz and Ricochet (though, Guiding Hand be thanked, not both at once), and she knew well that the fishing cat spirit didn’t see an opponent, an equal; she saw  _ prey. _ Even now, as a spectator, Prowl couldn’t help but be affected by it, and she wasn’t the only one. All around her she could hear murmurs and anxious shifting of plating. Some members of the audience were hiding their nervousness behind offense at Jazz’s lack of respect for the rules of combat, but most were just…  _ unnerved _ as Jazz took another strike, a deep cut in her leg, in favor of throwing Arcee again.

Silverstreak shouted a too-late warning as Jazz’s claws finally found their mark, pouncing on the retreating paladin as she rolled away. She didn’t just swipe at Arcee and back off; she  _ ripped _ into her leg, tearing her plating away to get at the crippling cables beneath with a snarl. That had Arcee letting out a harsh cry, the agony in her shout carrying across the sand to the spectators. Many of them flinched, but the only thing that had any effect on Jazz was the savage kick Arcee landed on her helm in an attempt to dislodge her.

Jazz yelped and let go, taking another piece of Arcee’s plating with her. At some point she’d lost her sword; Prowl only just now saw it on the ground, but she’d probably dropped it when she’d pounced Arcee. Unlike a soldier, however, she didn’t immediately dive for it now that they were no longer grappling with each other. Instead she crouched, in what Prowl recognized from watching her familiar hunt as a dangerously versatile position from which she could either run or attack again with equal ease.

Whether Arcee knew she wasn’t really as disadvantaged as she looked or not, she still took the chance to launch another attack. Her venting was harsher than before and her face was set in a grimace, but her injured leg didn’t buckle as she sprinted forward, rushing Jazz both with the intent of landing a blow and putting some distance between her and her weapon.

Jazz roared, a wall of sound that didn’t even seem like it could have come from a femme’s vocalizer. It was a visceral, primal sound that hit everyone and made them take a step back. Even Arcee couldn’t help but stumble.

Given an opening, Jazz  _ lunged. _

Plating rang as they collided, Arcee’s sword clashing against Jazz’s armor as the Polyhexian warrior went for her neck. Arcee dropped to one knee, escaping her teeth and scraping up a handful of sand to throw in Jazz’s face in the process. The sand didn’t do much good though; a visor was much less susceptible to fine particles getting into inconvenient places than standard optics, and the dust was still settling when Jazz started clawing again.

It looked like she was going to force Arcee the rest of the way to the ground and pin her. Prowl and everyone else gasped as, with a remarkable twist, Arcee managed to duck out from under her at the last second — but in the process, her sword got caught in Jazz’s plating and wrenched out of her hand.

Prowl had to loosen her grip on Jazz’s hikurere, she’d started holding it so tight her fingers were hurting. Silverstreak probably couldn’t even feel his anymore with the way he was clinging to the edge of the wall.

Relentless, Jazz snarled as she threw Arcee’s sword away and lunged again. This time, Arcee didn’t dodge or roll away. She didn’t try and retrieve her sword. She just  _ ran. _

Jazz pursued her a few steps with a yowl, but then stopped. She stayed, glaring at Arcee for a moment more, then roared in victory.

As the frightening sound died away, Jazz turned back to Prowl and the rest of the onlookers. She smiled, showing off her fangs, and Prowl watched  _ sense _ flow back into her gaze. “Aka! Toldja!  _ No _ match fer th’fishing cat!”

Leaving Arcee defeated behind her, Jazz ran and vaulted the wall to land in front of Prowl. The audience drew back, but Prowl didn’t. She could see the difference between  _ Jazz _ and the spirit that possessed her in battle, and it was her bonded she let sweep her up with a twirl into a deep, passionate kiss.

Prowl could feel fine tremors of excitement and exhaustion running through her lover’s frame as she was set back down. She reached for Jazz’s injured arm, but Jazz didn’t seem to be concerned with the damage she’d taken. All she was interested in was—  _ “Jazz!”  _ Prowl squeaked as claws still covered in energon traced the edge of her chest seam. Prowl quickly pulled Jazz into a tighter embrace, hoping to hide what she was doing from everyone still gathered around. It had the side benefit of holding her plating closed as well, which she was suddenly struggling to do. She was so  _ warm…  _ “Yer hurt, y’should do somethin’ ‘bout those cuts,” she protested between kisses.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Jazz assured.

“Arcee’s gettin’ patched up.” At least, Prowl assumed she was. It was hard to see her through the much larger crowd of people gathered around her than were focused on them. Silverstreak was right beside her, looking concerned but not panicked. Her injuries must not be critical then.

“Are-cee,” Jazz said, starting to nibble on Prowl’s neck and collar strut; her fingers were still tracing patterns over Prowl’s chest and down to her hips, “needs it.”

“So d’ya.” Prowl could feel the energon from Jazz’s leg wound running over her foot. “C’mon. Yer leakin’ all over.”

“Ain’t hurt,” she insisted, though she let Prowl pull away and tow her back out into the ring where a medic had arrived and was tending to Arcee’s leg. Silverstreak hovered worriedly, while the medic berated his intended for her stupidity.

Preening, Jazz danced over to retrieve her sword and resheath it on her back, next to the harpoons she hadn’t even touched. Then she danced back over to Prowl and pulled her hikurere off her lover, stole a kiss, and twirled to resettle the garment back on her own shoulders…  _ then _ she wiped the fluids off her claws onto it, leaving a ragged series of blue-ish stripes on her shoulder painted in Arcee’s fluids. She grinned at Prowl, tilting her head.  _ Aren’t I clever? _

Prowl shook her head, which only made her dizzy after so much highgrade. By Praxan standards, Jazz was being a pretty sore winner. Of course, by those same standards, she’d also cheated to win (Arcee had only cheated after Jazz had forced her to). Still, Prowl could appreciate her being proud of her victory. Jazz might belittle Arcee’s skill, but that hadn’t been an easy fight by  _ any  _ means. As scary as it had been at moments to watch, it had been impressive.

The Iaconi medic treating Arcee was busy, so it was a lithe Praxan femme who came to attend Jazz. Pure white with red medical markings, she was pretty enough to make Prowl’s highgrade addled mind jealous as she scurried over with her bag. Jazz whirled to face her, claws bared reflexively, but then relaxed quickly.

“Please, m’lady, let me…?”

Jazz was having none of it. She danced away with a (probably imagined, on Prowl’s part) flirtatious smile.

“Just let ‘er fix ya so we can be done with ‘er?” Prowl begged her intended.

Jazz stopped, tilted her head toward Prowl. Finally, the fact that her bondmate was  _ worried _ seemed to penetrate her euphoria. “Kay.” She settled, standing still so the medic could start cleaning her leg. Her other foot tapped restlessly though, making it clear she was only doing it for Prowl.

“Thank ya,” Prowl told her, grabbing and squeezing her hand. Jazz probably did know well enough whether her injuries were serious or not, and Polys  _ did  _ heal faster on their own than Praxans, but it didn’t make the energon any less upsetting to Prowl (or appropriate to wear around the castle). “Love ya. Jus’ wanna be sure yer okay.”

“M’ _ fine,” _ Jazz said insistently. “Just  _ want _ ya. Want ya so much,” she drew Prowl’s hand up to her mouth and kissed the tips of her fingers, her knuckles, her wrist. Heat bloomed from each touch. “Want ya  _ so _ much, want every part’a ya…”

The medic was polite enough to ignore Jazz’s mounting excitement and arousal, but the court wasn’t.

“I don’t see how that barbarian could consider herself the winner of that bout,” one mech announced pompously. Standing far enough away from him to pretend he was a neutral presence, but close enough his whispers would be carried to the braver — or stupider — noble, was Mirage. “Or how the  _ Imperial Princess, _ of all femmes, could approve of such dishonorable conduct.”

He was baiting her, Prowl knew he was, but not addressing those accusations would be a mistake — especially since Silverstreak would be giving the king a summary of events. “My intended did nothing dishonorable,” she said, turning to address the mech directly. “Perhaps my lord is confusing dishonorable with  _ unconventional.  _ This was not, nor ever understood by either participant to be, a formal duel. A code of conduct cannot be broken if it is not being observed.”

“The princess is correct,” Arcee spoke up unexpectedly. “We had arranged for a personal sparring match, nothing more. While we appreciated the unanticipated audience, perhaps we allowed you to form an inaccurate impression of our intent.”

To Mirage’s well-hidden dismay, the vocal protester turned his attention on the Iaconi princess. “How can you say that, Princess? That heathen violated every rule of acceptable behavior there is.”

“Not at all. Jazz is a warrior, not a soldier or a paladin. We each have different training and rules when it comes to formal challenges, but a practice bout is not about those rules — it is about how our skills measure up against each other. I would not have had her fight in any way but her own.”

Prowl was grateful for the diplomatic support, but she could see a personal motive underlying that particular statement: Arcee really had wanted a rematch, a do-over of the fight she had lost on the shore a vorn ago. Winning here wouldn’t have mattered to her if Jazz hadn’t gone all out the same way.

The blowhard continued to huff and puff for a little longer, but Arcee’s arguments had won the support of the crowd, even if Jazz herself still unnerved them.

“Stop it,” Jazz hissed at the medic, jerking her leg in her grip as she tried to solder some wires back together. “Just tie ‘em off an’ lemme go. Ain’t a newling!”

“If you would just tie them off,” Prowl told the white and red femme. “She would prefer to allow self-repair to handle the rest.”

The medic looked up. “Imperial Princess, this wound is deep. It would take deca-cycles for the wires and tubes to repair themselves, and the plating itself may take months, leaving behind a nasty scar. I really should finish.”

“She regrew a tire,” Prowl said rather bluntly. “I appreciate your concerns and, at one point, shared them, but I trust my intended to seek out additional healing if she feels she needs it.”

“Yes, Imperial Princess.” The medic acquiesced. She ceased her fine repairs and packed the wound with bandages to stop the bleeding and covered it to keep rust out of the wound, then did the same to her other cuts.

“She’s almost done,” Prowl murmured quietly as Jazz continued to fidget. She could see Arcee pull Silverstreak down so they could hug, whispering to the prince that she would be fine in time. “Yer gonna surprise everyone, healin’ so fast.”

“Don’t  _ care,” _ Jazz didn’t whine. “Just want ya, ‘less… d’ya not want me?” She tilted her head to look at Prowl from the corner of her visor. “Y’watched. I wanted t’win fer ya. Prove I’m a  _ good _ warrior fer ya…”

It would have been more convincing if she weren’t still not-so-innocently running her claws over the sensitive spot on Prowl’s wrist!

“Are a good warrior,” Prowl said, trying  _ so hard  _ not to let her fans get any louder. She knew Jazz could feel her trembling, and that both Jazz and the poor medic could feel the arousal building in her field. “An’ of course I want ya!”

“Finished,” the femme announced, pulling away from Jazz to put away her tools.

Jazz didn’t wait for a translation; she jumped on Prowl, pouncing her. Unprepared for the sudden weight and less than perfectly steady on her feet, Prowl went down easily.

“Careful,” Prowl said, wincing a little from the somewhat jarring impact with the sand. “What was that fer?”

“Want ya,” Jazz repeated, kissing her.

It took altogether too long for Prowl’s processor to connect the dots.  _ “Right here?!”  _ she exclaimed when she finally realized where Jazz was headed with this. “I can’t! We need t’move first!”

“Then let’s move,” Jazz purred, letting her up.

“Do you need help, Imperial Princess,” one noble asked gallantly, while another snickered snidely.

“I am fine, thank you,” Prowl managed to say politely, and even managed to get to her feet with a minimum of difficulty. “My intended and I are going to withdraw. We wish you all a good evening.”

“Come have brunch with me tomorrow,” Silverstreak said, not moving from his place next to Arcee. An order, and given how the much younger mech had been elevated above her, not one she could outright ignore. “A private one. After you get up,” he said more hesitantly, as if afraid he had asked too much. “Whenever that is.”

Jazz tugged on their joined hands.

“We would be honored to accept your invitation,” Prowl told him with a deferential lowering of her doorwings. That would be a much more enjoyable meal than the one they’d so recently escaped. With a final smile to him and Arcee, Prowl let Jazz pull her away from the crowd. “Until morning!”

Silverstreak dismissing the court was the last thing she heard as they exited the salle. Cold hit her as snow crunched under their feet. Despite still not wearing either of her sarong, and only having the hikurere draped loosely over her shoulders, Jazz didn’t seem to notice the temperature; she was too busy guiding them toward what she saw as another, readily available cave: a garden tool shed.

Prowl could have protested. She  _ should  _ have insisted they go up to her rooms. Instead, she just grabbed the door as Jazz pulled her inside and shut it behind them.

“Jazz!” She threw herself into her beloved’s arms. “Touch me!”

The islander obeyed, stroking and caressing. Their fans were finally given free rein, and Jazz’s engine purred excitedly. She showered kisses on her lover’s face and chest. “Love ya. Want ya.”

Prowl writhed as Jazz’s claws traced their way over her frame. Her shoulders, over the edges of her pinned doors, down to her hips. Everyplace  _ but _ her chest! “Jazz!”

“Yeah, beautiful?” Jazz clearly knew what she wanted but continued to touch and tease. How was she managing to hold back, when it had been so long since they’d last done this? Alone at last after all those days of being surrounded by their travelling companions, and instead of taking advantage, Jazz was  _ playing  _ with her?!

_ “Jazz!” _

Prowl could feel her bondmate’s purr, hear her engine shift into a higher gear each time she twitched or wriggled, until it was so loud she couldn’t hear her own fans. Electricity danced through the air like an approaching storm. Storm. Prowl gave a ragged giggle. The Polyhexian word for _overload_ was the same as the one for _tempest_ , and no wonder; the look, feel, _taste_ of a lover on the edge looked like lightning in the clouds, and the overload itself was like being struck with it…

“JAZZ!”

“Love that sound, beautiful,” Jazz whispered raggedly. “Love hearin’ y’call m’name. So glad I won th’fight fer ya…”

If Jazz liked hearing her, Prowl couldn’t think of a reason to stop. “Jaaaazz!”

Jazz’s frame shuddered and finally,  _ finally, _ her claws traced the glowing mark on Prowl’s chest. Warm fingers touched the components and sensors  _ inside _ her chest, and in some still functioning part of her processor Prowl wondered when she’d opened it.

It didn’t matter. Jazz was finally touching her there and it was  _ wonderful! _

As Jazz drove all coherent thought from her, Prowl managed to find the glowing mark on Jazz’s chest with her fingers. Still closed, that wouldn’t do… Jazz gasped, then keened loudly, an animal noise of pleasure as she yielding to Prowl’s fingers, a crack appearing in her own armor. The tables turned. Jazz was the one clinging to Prowl as her lover toyed with her. There was a clatter of… of something… as they fell to the ground.

“Prowl!”

Prowl would have liked to answer, but she was far beyond words. She wanted her lover’s spark!

Writhing beneath her, Jazz was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Prowl couldn’t resist touching the edges of the extra armor she wore, examining the differences battle preparedness wrought on her lover’s form. Jazz didn’t seem to notice when Prowl touched the tied-on armor itself, but the edges, where it didn’t protect her native plating, seemed hypersensitive and she howled.

More than glowing paint lit the small space now. Both their chests had opened enough for their sparks to shine through, and tendrils of light reached out towards each other. Prowl felt her lover’s spark  _ calling _ as it always did; the call of a spark reaching for its resonant and bondmate.

Reverently, Prowl dipped her fingers into Jazz’s light, touching her lover’s spark. The living light reached back, caressing her hand and arm, igniting sparks as it went.

Their fans and engines were  _ loud. _ Prowl couldn’t hear anything over the echoes of their overheated frames. Even Jazz’s keening was lost in that roar. The crackle of electricity over both their frames disappeared, the additional light all that registered. Jazz was  _ so close… _

So was Prowl.

They could both overload like this, Jazz helpless to her lover’s touch, Prowl just from the feedback from her bondmate’s frame, but Prowl wanted  _ more… _

Panting, on the edge of overload, Prowl lowered herself to Jazz’s chest. Their sparks reached for each other and  _ pulled _ with an intensity that was almost physical, drawing them closer. Their chests opened just that little bit more to allow their sparks to lay flush with each other and their sparks overlapped.

Prowl felt Jazz’s  _ love-excitement-joy _ and met it with her own  _ love-joy, _ then released herself to become one, for however short a time, with her beloved. Here there was no judgment, no expectations, just acceptance and love and bliss.

If she’d had enough identity of self left, she would have wished it could last forever.

As always, of course, it couldn’t. Eventually the storm became too intense and they both gave in, surrendering themselves to the ecstasy.

Prowl had only a vague sense of time passing, of the waves receding to make room again for thoughts to form without immediately being washed away. It took awhile, that much she knew. Being drunk made coming back after such a spectacular merge even slower and more floaty than usual. She decided to enjoy it rather than let it worry her. There was something else that should be bothering her too, she felt, but it wasn’t a concrete thought, so she didn’t bother trying to chase it down. What mattered right now was Jazz, next to her, around her, singing to her.

Jazz was still so warm. It was a nice contrast to the rest of the room, which was cold beyond the cocoon of repurposed sarong and hikurere. They were no longer laying chest-to-chest, with their sparks intertwined, but it felt like too much effort to actually close her plating just yet. Especially since it would stop her lover from petting her sensitive inner circuitry, trailing the barest tips of her claws through the outermost corona of her spark. It was languid and peaceful and still so…  _ warm. _ Prowl found herself panting, though the warmth wasn’t renewed arousal.

“Lo, beautiful,” Jazz greeted, soft and reverent.

“Lo yerself.” Prowl smiled at her beloved, lazily bringing a hand up to stroke her thumb back and forth over the smooth plating of Jazz’s arm. “That was… that  _ was.”  _ If fighting keyed Jazz up that much, maybe they should arrange a few more matches during their stay. “Yer so… alive,” she said somewhat lamely, unable to fit everything she felt into a single word. “Love ya.”

Jazz withdrew her hand to make a gesture, her closed fist going from her own barely parted chest plates to draw out a single tendril of sparklight to stretch out toward Prowl’s, opening her fingers as the tendril faded.  _ Love. Bonded. _ A link between them that even the gods could not break. Prowl couldn’t imagine not having that bond. As new as it was, it felt like it had always been there, and she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have Jazz there in her spark.

“Izzat why y’wanted me t’watch so much?” Prowl asked after a few more minutes of quiet, comfortable companionship. “Cuz y’knew y’were gonna be that wired after?”

“What d’Prax usually do at a fight?” Jazz answered with a question of her own, tilting her head. “I got stars in m’optics; yer all I can see…”

“Same. ‘S’why I couldn’t imagine  _ not  _ watchin’.” And, subsequently, why it should have been so exciting that she was. “Yer my mate. I had t’be there t’cheer ya on.”

“Want y’t’be there  _ every _ time,” Jazz said with a kiss to the center of Prowl’s chevron.

Prowl sighed, leaning into the caress, and Jazz hummed in appreciation.

It might have led to another, gentler round of sparkmerging, if they hadn’t been interrupted.

_ Skritch! Skritch! _ “Prrooooooowwl!” Sundance yowled from outside the… the  _ garden shed?! _ “Prowl! Pet me! I have an itch! You must scratch it!”  _ Skritch! Skritch! _

“Oh, noooo,” Prowl moaned, burying her face against Jazz’s plating. She’d done it again?! This was so much worse than fragging under a blanket on the boat in Hightower. Or was it? Maybe it wasn’t? Only if someone had seen or heard them in here… “Sundance, is anyone else out there?”

“What? Yes! No! I don’t know! I’m  _ itchy!” _

“What’s she want?” Jazz petted her helm, trying to coax her out of hiding. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Prowl sighed. “Yup. It’s th’end’a th’world,” she deadpanned, sitting up and shifting so he could push the door open a crack. “She’s  _ itchy.” _

The cat rushed inside almost before the opening was wide enough for her, burrowing into the cocoon of garments, wiggling her cold plating in between their bodies. Her tail lashed restlessly back and forth. “Itch!”

“Yes, yes, I’m working on it,” Prowl said, smiling as her familiar squirmed under her fingers until she found the right spot… and then the next spot, and the next, all with a rumbling purr. Mortified as she was by where they’d wound up (and desperately not looking forward to Mirage or the king hearing about it, which of course they would, somehow), she was not immune to the cat’s charms. “Better?”

The cat didn’t so much respond as go limp. “Mrrrumph.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Prowl looked back at Jazz. “We should move somewhere else.”

“Sure. S’cold here.”

Without warning, Sundance pounced the hand petting her, biting it, licking the bite, biting it again, then zoomed out the way she’d come in… or tried to. What she really did was bonk herself into the doorframe of the closed door.

“Sundance?” That wasn’t like her. Well, the first part was. Not so much the second. “Are you alright?”

“Fi~ne. I’m just a little wo~oz— WHAT’S THAT?” She flipped around and hissed, bristling all her plating to make herself bigger, growling at… thin air?

“Why’s she actin’ all crazy?” Prowl mused out loud, trying to think of a reason for her behavior that didn’t involve conspiracies. There was probably a perfectly innocent explanation. “Come here, you silly thing.”

The cat let herself be caught and soothed, purring, but only for a couple of kliks. Then she wiggled out of Prowl’s arms — “lemmegolemmegolemmego” — and started zooming around the shed.

“Sundance!” Prowl lunged for her and… promptly lost her balance as her head spun with the aftereffects of all the cordial she’d had. Cordial that  _ Sundance  _ had had, she now remembered. “Oh no.” She started giggling where she lay on the floor. “She’s drunk!”

“Ain’t th’only one, beautiful.” Jazz carefully pulled Prowl back up to something approaching vertical, while Sundance continued to zoom around the room, knocking over a shovel with a clatter. Jazz rearranged the sarong and hikurere around Prowl to hold in her warmth, while steam wafted from both their vents. “Let’s git inside yer cave. Show m’where we’re rechargin’.”

“Kay.”

Standing and walking were both doable, as long as she moved slowly. With Jazz’s help and support, Prowl managed to get up and picked her way carefully across the increasingly cluttered field of debris (Sundance took out a bag of fertilizer with her claws rebounding off it) between her them and the exit.

The cold air was bracing when she opened the door, and Prowl tugged the hikurere closer around her shoulders. “Feels colder now,” she complained, then giggled when Jazz cheekily licked her chevron, making her engine speed up and humm with  _ interest.  _ “That ain’t helpin’.”

“Was tryin’ t’warm y’up,” Jazz purred, as Sundance finally found the open door and shot past them in a blur.

“Are warmin’ me up, an’ it’s makin’ it colder out here!”

Jazz pouted, but she stopped  _ trying _ to arouse her. For now.

“C’mon, rooms’re this way. There’s rooms fer ya too, but lets just go t’mine fer now.” Her quarters were closer, and nicer, and right now that was all she cared about. “Sundance, are you coming with us?”

Half leaning on, half leading Jazz, Prowl got them from the garden to her suite. They passed a few servants along the way, and while no one dared to stop or question them, Prowl knew they would be talking later. She did her best to ignore that fact, pushing the thought from her mind as she pushed Jazz through the door to her suite and held it for her thoroughly buzzed familiar.

“Just how much  _ did  _ you drink?” Prowl asked her as she careened past, tried to stop herself, and failed miserably. The black and silver cybercat went skidding right into a padded ottoman, nearly knocking it over. She wasn’t surprised when she didn’t get an answer, so she turned her attention to Jazz, who she found looking around in bewilderment.

Prowl joined her in looking around, at first not seeing what was confusing her. Then she realized how  _ luxurious _ her quarters were to someone not used to them. She’d always kept things as simple and sparse as she could, filling the shelves with books rather than expensive dust-gatherers, but it was still worlds beyond the comforts of the tiny kattumaram… which were wonderful, but still just a sleeping pad with a blanket, open to the sky.

And this was only one room of several.

“This’s th’sittin’ cave,” she said, coming up beside Jazz, hoping to put her at ease. “Fer sittin’ an’ talkin’ with people when they come here. Bed’s in that cave,” she pointed to the door on the right side of the room, which was currently standing ajar, “an’ that one’s…“ she stumbled over what to call the room on the left. “‘S fer magic,” she generalized, since she did research magic in the study. Luckily that door was closed, or she would have had to shut Sundance out of it to protect her books.

“Kay.” Jazz started guiding her toward the berthroom.

Prowl followed eagerly. “Y’gonna warm me up again?”

Jazz licked her chevron again in response.

They made it to the doorway before Jazz pulled up short again, staring at the room almost as though she wasn’t sure she should enter it. Prowl stopped beside her, letting her take in the rich blues and golds of the walls and molding, the ornate rug covering the cold stone floor, and of course, the bed. The room she’d had in Hightower had nothing like this, with its carved and gilded canopy frame, thick, lush curtains and blankets, and so many pillows the only way the two of them would fit on the berth would be to set several of them aside.

“‘S’okay t’go in,” Prowl prompted gently as Jazz seemed to be having trouble processing it all. “‘S my cave. Y’can touch whatever y’want. Just be more careful with yer claws than some cats are,” she glanced back over her shoulder, where Sundance had tangled herself on the carpet and was yowling at the Unfairness Of It All.

“Kay.” Still, Jazz stepped carefully, almost timidly, through the room to the bed. Her amorous thoughts seemed to have been driven out of her mind as she helped Prowl into it, taking the garments and carefully drawing back the blankets to arrange them on top of her, then shuffled back uncertainly.

It struck her how out of place Jazz looked in this setting. Even without the casual amount of dirt and other smudges Prowl had rarely seen her entirely without before, she just didn’t fit. She was too… wild. The beads and other ornaments she wore were very pretty, and had an appeal to Prowl that all the gold in this room did not, but they were simple by comparison. Determinedly, Prowl opened her arms, inviting Jazz to hold her. “C’mere,” she said, making her field warm and welcoming. She’d come to terms with Jazz’s ferocity; Jazz didn’t have to run from this.. “Ain’t a big deal if pillows hit th’floor. ‘S what it’s there fer.”

Also them, if they fell out of bed, though Prowl didn’t think she’d had enough to drink to worry about that. Still, she must be more inebriated than she’d originally thought if she was thinking such fanciful things about blending their lives.

Slowly, Jazz let herself be coaxed into joining her on the bed, but instead of being held, Prowl found herself holding her bonded as she curled up against her.

“Sorry,” Jazz sniffed, burying her face in Prowl’s chest. “Don’t mean t’keep doin’ th’wrong things.”

“Shh.” Prowl kissed the top of her helm. “Yer here, an’ yer tryin’, fer me. An’ I love ya so, so much.” Jazz’s intentions might not matter to most of the court when her execution was so poor, but they meant the world to Prowl. “Yer still th’best mate ever.”

“Am,” Jazz insisted, making Prowl laugh that even in her sadness she retained that confidence. “I just didn’t expect yer clan t’be so… different.”

Prowl kissed her again and held her tighter, imagining she would be the one saying that in a season’s time. “Our clans’re very different,” she agreed, trying not to dwell on any details. Not while she was still drunk and Jazz was upset. “But that’s part’a why I love ya so much. Yer not any’a them. Yer  _ you.” _

Sundance chose that moment to run right over them, up one side of the bed and down the other, without stopping. Jazz jerked, then with a chuckle of her own, relaxed into Prowl’s embrace. “I didn’t expect ya t’be a Prax when I finally found ya,” she said, melancholy but calmer. “Didn’t expect it t’matter; y’were gonna be joinin’ m’clan. Don’t regret any’a it, but… the sea’s so far away right now. S’too quiet an’ too noisy all at once. An’ I miss Rico.”

“Bet she’s makin’ a lotta noise, whatever she’n Smokescreen’re up ta.” Prowl couldn’t know what it was like for Jazz to be away from her twin, not having one herself, but she understood missing someone. “We’ll see ‘er again soon. An’ just think’a all th’stories y’can swap t’one up each other.”

Jazz snorted. “Rico’s always makin’ noise. Wouldn’t know music if she got hit in th’head by a couple’a singin’ stones.”

“Good thing Prax pub songs ain’t exactly a challenge then,” since that was the only musical thing Prowl could think of that she could be doing right now. “Smokescreen said some of ‘em’re supposed t’sound bad on purpose.”

“Sure,” Jazz sounded a little more cheerful. “Know a few’a ‘em.”

“Yeah? I feel like I’ll regret askin’, but I have been drinkin’ so’s appropriate,” Prowl said, figuring singing might help cheer Jazz up. “Teach me?”

Jazz laughed. “Oh~♪ ♫ I am,” the words, being Praxan as well as to a song best sung while  _ drunk _ weren’t pronounced quite right, but Jazz gamely took on the challenge anyway, “~intoxicated~inebriated~tipsy~plastered~smashed~sloshed~sozzled~sauced and blasted. Oh~ I am juiced~stinko~blitzed~fried~blasted~gassed~pissed~tanked~soaked and trashed! Oh~ I am…”

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some reference photos for this chapter. They aren’t exact in some cases, but we used these pictures to develop the descriptions and thought they’d be a good thing to share:
> 
> Energon sculptures:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/75/33/7f/75337f6cf17dc8d44e70e4b17bea0bb5.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2f/03/af/2f03af781d22800af189691e9d94c1fb.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/41/fb/fa/41fbfa89a3085cc1eebc966e8f8059c0.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c7/49/8e/c7498e98a28ca8c0d589ef68882788d1.jpg
> 
> Energon cordial with bubbles: 
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/43/c3/09/43c3096fcb6e0d2b4dfa4a8ebf615ffa.jpg
> 
> Prowl’s berth room:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/27/a8/c2/27a8c2a5219cb199a94eaa579d0e42a3.jpg


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Prowl woke to the sensation of tiny clawed feet kneading at her plating from atop her chest.

“Mmngh,” she whined, rolling to dislodge the cat. Sundance had kept both her and Jazz up for  _ joors  _ last night crashing around the suite before finally passing out. She’d been sleeping like a dead thing last Prowl had looked before passing out herself. What was she doing up  _ already? _

Her purr changed to a truly obnoxious pitch. “Hungry.”

“Sleeping,” Prowl countered, burrowing into the blankets until she found her bondmate half-buried in all the pillows. She whistled her vents in a fake snore.

“Huuuuungrrrry!” Sundance purred louder. She kneaded Prowl’s plating again, claws pricking through the blankets. “Proooowwl! It’s midday and I’m starving.  _ Starving! _ I’m going to waste away if you don’t get up and  _ feed me.” _

“It’s not midday.” Wait. It wasn’t, was it? They were supposed to be having brunch with Silverstreak today. He’d said whenever they woke up, but that still implied morning. Drat. Now she had to check.

At least it was warm this time when she sat up and the blankets fell away. Prowl rolled out of bed and padded across the thick rug to peer out the window in the main sitting room. “Liar,” she meowed down at Sundance, who was winding around her ankles in what was clearly an attempt to trip her. “It’s still morning.”

_ “Starving,” _ she repeated with a loud meow. “Now that you’re up, you’re going to feed me, right?”

Still cocooned in the blankets on the berth, Jazz snickered at the miniature drama.

“Yer just laughin’ cuz she’s pesterin’ me instead’a ya,” Prowl said, giving in and getting out Sundance’s food for her. The dish was barely on the floor before she was whiskers-deep in it, attacking her breakfast like it was the first meal she’d had in a decacycle. Cat satisfied, Prowl put away (and locked up, so the pest couldn’t get at it whenever she wanted) the rest of the food and came back to the berth to climb up beside her bondmate. “She’s got sharp feet!”

That made Jazz’s visor blink on, then off, then on again. “Y’don’t have claws?”

“Course not. See?” Prowl held up her fingers, each as blunt and round as the next. “Just like I ain’t got fangs.”

“Know that,” Jazz scoffed quietly. “Thought y’would be able t’make some by magic, since yer a ship cat.”

“I can’t… yet,” Prowl mused, wondering about the possibilities. She hadn’t looked into it specifically before, but theoretically there was no reason she couldn’t find a way to do it. “Though even if I could, havin’ claws wouldn’t stop Sundance from walkin’ on me in th’mornings till I fed her.”

“Eh, prolly not.” Jazz curled up in Prowl’s arms and purred — a much more pleasant sound than Sundance’s demanding noise!

“She always gets m’up too early,” Prowl complained without any real venom, though she felt that way more than usual this morning after the events of the previous day. High stress, highgrade, and not enough sleep made getting up to feed the cat a real nuisance. “Rather stay ‘ere with ya.”

“This s’good,” Jazz agreed. “Don’t wanna leave.”

“Glad ya didn’t.” Though of course Prowl hadn’t actually shown her where her rooms were, so how could she have? In any case, she wasn’t sorry Jazz had stayed the night at all, and the fact that she had wouldn’t even make a footnote compared to the two of them shacking up — literally — in the garden shed right after the match with Arcee. Prowl buried her face against Jazz again. “I don’t wanna leave either.” She sighed. “I’m a bad princess,” she whispered to herself in Praxan.

Jazz nuzzled her, offering a  _ coo-ruu _ of comfort. “Y’hungry? I can git us somethin’ t’eat.”

Prowl was suddenly bombarded with a vision of Jazz climbing down the castle walls in  _ broad daylight _ and then getting hit by all the noise of the city she’d hid from in the carriage and getting disoriented and… there her vision failed. Would Jazz go scurrying back to the safety of the castle, or get out of the city and refuse to come back in?

“Don’t need fuel yet,” she said, holding on to Jazz as if she could protect her from getting into trouble. “We’re gonna go meet Silverstreak fer fuel in a bit anyway.”

“Should bring somethin’,” Jazz said predictably, though she didn’t try and wiggle out of her bondmate’s arms.

“He’s hostin’. We’re just supposed t’be there.” Though if Jazz really wanted to, Prowl was willing to bring something. It would give her a chance to sneak in a recovery mix to deal with the lingering aches. “Won’t be as many people ‘s yesterday,” she said, grateful for that herself. Both the brunch and the audience they were supposed to have this afternoon to begin discussing the wedding contract were small affairs, though the latter still afforded plenty of room for slip-ups. But they could manage. They  _ would  _ manage.

“Should bring  _ somethin’,” _ Jazz repeated. “I’m a  _ good _ food finder. Don’t want yer kin thinkin’ I’m not.”

Her kin would probably think Jazz’s insistence on bringing food to every meal when that was what servants were for was weird before they thought she was a bad provider, but that wasn’t worth getting into. “Could bring a kelapa,” Prowl conceded, since Silverstreak would probably enjoy learning how the kelapa ball treats were made. And it would be safe for Arcee to share in, if she happened to be there. The large seed crystals were still in with her travel bags as part of her personal stash, waiting for her to put them away. It had taken only a few magical traps and accidents to teach the servants not to go rifling through her bags when she returned from a trip. “Can teach th’prince how t’open it.”

Jazz nudged her head underneath one of Prowl’s hands and purred loudly when she obligingly scratched the proffered sensor horns. “Could do that.”

“Then we’ll fetch some energon t’go with it fer makin’ the balls on th’way.” When it was time. Right now they could still reasonably lie about for a while, and Prowl intended to do just that. Jazz seemed to agree; she lay there, purring while Prowl stroked her sensor horns, then the rest of her helm.

It was odd being the one to hold Jazz rather than the other way around, but nice. Cuddling in general had been strange to Prowl at first, but she could now see it wasn’t just the pointless touching she’d thought it to be. While it wasn’t a prelude to sex this time — Jazz didn’t start stroking or nibbling at erogenous zones on her plating, even when Prowl hinted that she was willing with slow, deliberate strokes over those sensor horns — the closeness and contact was comforting, reassuring. Prowl was glad she could give that to Jazz when it was clear that being here was harder on her than she’d expected.

Things would have been so much less stressful if they could have just done everything from Hightower. Dumping  _ all  _ of Praxus at its most complicated on Jazz all at once was hardly ideal, and her willingness to try hadn’t been based on realistic expectations.

Purring, Jazz drifted almost entirely back into recharge, not even stirring when Sundance jumped up on the bed and sniffed at her.

“Happy now?” Prowl asked the cat, lifting one hand long enough to stroke over her head and shoulders. “Not dying of hunger?”

“Full now,” she meowed back, then wedged herself between Prowl and Jazz and curled up. “Sleepy now. Warm…”

“Did you want to come to brunch? I can wake you or let you sleep.”

“It’s nap time,” the cat insisted. Nap time, of course, was whenever she wanted to nap, that being most of the day most days.

“Alright. Nap then.” Prowl petted her head, then left her alone to snooze.

With both of them sleeping beside her it was hard for Prowl not to give in and nap with them, but she knew that if she didn’t stay awake they would wind up being late to brunch. So she propped herself up to watch them, struck again by how very different Jazz looked among all the Praxan textiles. The color palette matched though. The room was accented in golds and blacks rather than black and white like Jazz’s accessories, but they both had a lot of blue.

At one point Jazz shifted, much to Sundance’s initial displeasure, to capture the cybercat in her arms and cuddle her to her chest. After only a token protest, Sundance decided that wasn’t so bad and resumed her nap, this time with Jazz’s claws languidly scritching her audial flaps, much like Prowl was petting Jazz’s.

It was with considerable reluctance that Prowl finally disturbed them some time later. “‘S time t’git up,” she said, poking Jazz’s shoulder as she sat up fully. “‘S time t'git th’energon from th’kitchens.”

“Kay.”

Sundance protested loudly when Jazz twisted and stretched, then immediately stole the warm patch where she had been as soon as she got up. Prowl huffed a quiet laugh over her being such a cat, then went to call a servant to let Silverstreak know they were awake and would be arriving soon.

When she came back, she turned her optic to their appearance. There wasn’t enough time for a full polish, and it wasn’t strictly necessary anyway, but their cloth ornaments were looking a bit rumpled, and…

“Don’t need t’wear armor outside’a fights’n formal events’n this’s neither,” she said. “Lemme show ya where yer cave is so y’can leave it.”

“Ain’t stayin’ in yer cave?” Jazz paused in undoing the knot on one of the flared bracers. “Guess that makes sense. Stayin’ with th’warriors.” She puffed her chest, but Prowl could see how nervous the prospect was making her.

Staying with the warriors? Staying in the guest quarters was more accurate, since by Praxan tradition they weren’t actually bonded yet, but it was a little ridiculous to adhere strictly to that separation now. Even the people who  _ hadn’t _ already known the wedding was just a formality at this point would have figured it out after the incident in the shed. “‘S okay t’stay here with me, if ya want,” Prowl told her. She knew  _ she  _ wanted. “The other cave’s so y’have yer own space if y’want it, and somewhere t’keep yer stuff.”

“I’ll just leave th’armor here then,” Jazz said with relief. She carefully put the bracer aside, on the floor. She fussed with it a bit, and finally got up to leave it on one of the only small patches of floor that wasn’t covered in luxurious carpet, then busied herself removing the rest of the armor.

Prowl took the opportunity to straighten her ornaments, picking the cloth ones up off the floor as she did so, and checked for any obvious scratches or marred patches in her finish. Rather than craning her neck to look, however, she walked over to the full-length mirror on the wall, drawing back the curtain covering it so she could see herself more easily.

She saw Jazz’s reflection jump away with a yowl and she herself whirled to see what the problem was  _ now _ only to see her bondmate baring her claws at her — at the mirror  _ behind _ her — hissing.

Oops. “Didn’t mean t’startle ya.” Again. Though Jazz’s reaction was amusingly reminiscent of Sundance’s first encounter with “that other cat in the wall”, and Prowl had to suppress a giggle. “‘S just a _mirror,”_ there were small polished-metal hand mirrors in the markets in Hightower, but she had no idea what Polyhexians called them. “Y’know, a shiny thing t’see yerself in?”

That calmed Jazz a little. “Whakaata. Reflect-thing,” she translated into the trade argot. Cautiously, she approached the mirror, ducking back several times when her own reflection appeared in it.  _ “S’big.” _

“Is.” Big and heavy and expensive. “‘S too big to move so it stays here with th’ _ curtain  _ t’protect it.”

As she grew bolder (or more used to the sudden appearance of a full-body reflection of herself) Jazz stepped closer to the mirror to examine it. Her plating still bristled aggressively at it, but she came close enough to gently tap the surface with her claws.

She jumped back again at the bright  _ ting! _

“It can’t hurt ya,” Prowl promised, just like she’d (repeatedly) promised Sundance. “Long as y’don’t hit it hard enough t’break it. ‘S about as strong’s a glass window an’ th’pieces’d cut like glass too.”

Jazz came close again, this time touching it more gently. She made a soft interrogative noise. “Smooth,” she said, like the state was utterly bewildering. “Shiny. How’d it git so clear?”

“Not sure. Mighta used magic,” Prowl admitted. “It really is like a big, clear glass window, only instead’a puttin’ it in a hole in th’wall they cover th’back with shiny stuff so it reflects things.” That was why large mirrors, and particularly good ones, cost so much. The silvering on the back was expensive to acquire and apply in large amounts, and getting a single, solid, clear piece of glass, whether by craft or by magic, often resulted in a fair amount of waste from breakages. “Whaddaya think?”

“Dunno,” Jazz said, backing away. It wasn’t a panicked or fearful motion, but she did move so her reflection wasn’t visible.

“I’ll cover it when I’m done,” Prowl said, turning to it so she could finish quickly and make good on her promise. The Polyhexian finish she’d last used didn’t look right for attending court, of course, but it had held up to fragging in a shed with a warrior in armor remarkably well. Prowl saw her doorwings flinch in embarrassment briefly in her reflection, and she focused on smoothing out the Polyhexian ornaments she was wearing to banish the thought.

With a final turn, she drew the curtain back over the mirror when she was done and looked back at Jazz. “How do I look?”

With a wary glance toward the mirror to be sure it was covered, Jazz stepped forward and picked Prowl up by the waist, twirling her around once. She planted a kiss on her lips as she set her back on the floor. “Perfect.”

“Thanks.” Prowl smiled, then stepped back to pick up Jazz’s hikurere from the end of the berth. “Lemme help ya, then we’ll go?” She already had all the armor off, carefully tucked away in the corner of the room.

“Sure,” Jazz smiled and settled her plating so Prowl could wrap the hikurere over her shoulders more easily. Prowl arranged it like Jazz had done before, almost draped more than wrapped, then did her best to tie the sarong correctly. It was something she still needed practice with, but she was better at tying them on Jazz than on herself, and was able to create a knot that didn’t look like it was about to come apart any second in the end.

“Ta da,” she said, straightening up to look at the result. Jazz might not look immaculate or traditionally Praxan, but she did look, “Perfect.”

Jazz readjusted the hikurere so it was wrapped like Prowl’s and smiled back. She scooped up her weapons and slung them over her shoulder, then reached for Prowl’s hand to draw her into another kiss, nipping her lip playfully.

“Pest!’ But Prowl kissed back before pulling away to glance at the weapons. “Yer not leavin’ those with yer armor?”

Jazz tilted her head inquisitively. “Why?”

“Cuz y’don’t need ‘em?” But Prowl wasn’t going to say she couldn’t bring any of them. She’d probably be more uncomfortable without any weapons at all. “Maybe just leave th’long ones,” since those would be more likely to draw negative attention than the collection of knives strapped to her leg.

Slowly, hesitantly, Jazz took the harpoons bundled with the stolen gladius off. Her fingers clenched, broadcasting her tension, as she contemplated putting it down. “Won’t be huntin’r raidin’, s’true…” She set them down, but didn’t let go of the the strap. “Ain’t th’harvest season though.”

“Ain’t, but ya did come fer peaceful reasons, and carryin’ lotsa weapons’ll make some people get th’wrong idea. Can still carry ‘em, but y’might have’ta explain why if they try’n make trouble.”

“Warriors ain’t supposed t’leave their weapons behind, ‘cept durin’ th’harvest season,” Jazz said, still contemplating doing just that. “If we ain’t out on our own raids, might be called t’defend against others’. Even when we’re with another clan fer a while.” Her hand trembled as she finally let go of the strap. “Toldja, I’d do all th’things fer ya…”

Prowl stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “I don’t want ya t’be uncomfortable. If it’d be worse not t’have ‘em than t’deal with people lookin’ at ya like yer doin’ somethin’ wrong — which yer  _ not,  _ an’ they’re not allowed t’tell ya y’can’t, y’got th’same protections here as y’do in Hightower — then wear ‘em. It’s just most Praxans don’t wear weapons all th’time, so if ya do they’ll notice’n have opinions cuz they ain’t got anything better t’do ‘cept pick on things that’re different.” She squeezed Jazz a little closer. “Too many Praxans ain’t nice about things bein’ different just cuz they’re different, even if those differences’re good.” Put like that, Prowl found she wasn’t very fond of that trait of her people. Pushed to conform since she’d been harvested, Prowl had found it a necessary self-sacrifice for her duty. But right now it was  _ hurting _ Jazz, when she was trying so hard…

“Tired’a doin’ all th’wrong things,” Jazz said, trembling against her. “Am a good mate; want yer kin t’see I’m a good mate.”

“Will see it.” Prowl would make sure they saw it. “I know, put th’sword back on,” she said, drawing on a familiar, socially defensible parallel. “Paladins’re allowed t’wear a sword at all times cuz it’s part’a who they are, just like yer a warrior.”

“Stole it, fair an’ everythin’,” Jazz said. “But th’harpoon’s a better weapon.”

“Is? How?”

“S’got better reach,” Jazz said, warming up to the topic. “More angles’a attack, can block with th’shaft, or can throw it. S’why I carry more’n one.”

“Then… let’s call th’harpoon yer Paladin’s sword,” Prowl said, thinking out loud. “If those’re all yer carryin’, that’s an easy way t’explain ‘em t’anyone who tries t’make trouble.”

“Kay.” Jazz wiggled out of her bondmate’s arms to scoop up the bundle of weapons. Carefully, she extricated the gladius and placed it with the armor, leaving her with the collection of harpoons. There were five of them in total, and Prowl finally took her first real good look at them. All of them had shafts of reddish metal and lines of multicolored Polyhexian rope and decorations of rather ragged feathers. Four had steelbone or bronze barbed harpoon heads; one had polished steel, and carved images and runes on the shaft.

“They’re so… individual.” It felt a bit like stating the obvious, but she couldn’t help it. The weapons truly were unique. Almost artistic, for all that they were clearly functional. There was no denying the deadly sharpness of those metal points, even though Prowl had never seen her use one — just the aftermath when she brought something up out of the water, speared on them. “You make ‘em or trade for ‘em? Or,” she realized the other likely way for them to have wound up in Jazz’s possession, “steal ‘em?”

Jazz grinned and gave her a sly look out of the corner of her optic band. “Yep.”

“Aww, come on! Which one?”

Jazz took pity. “All three, beautiful.” She caressed the plainest shafts, and the steelbone barbed points. “Made these.” Then she detached the steel point from its carved shaft and turned it over in her hands. Prowl winced, imagining that point buried in a creature’s metal, being reeled in by the attached rope. “Bought this in Hightower.” She reattached it. “Stole th’rest.” But not from Praxan ships, and there was another reason to have her carry the harpoons instead of the sword. While she could have bought that too, she hadn’t, and wouldn’t hide the fact that she’d stolen it (fair and square!) from Arcee.

“What’re th’feathers fer?” Prowl knew what the ropes were for, but the feathers looked purely decorative.

“Always-hit spell,” she grinned brightly.

“Really?” Prowl looked at them with more interest. Was this another example of something that Polyhexians called a spell that didn’t really seem to be one, or was there actual magic she could recognize at work?

…Brunch. They were supposed to be having brunch with Silverstreak, not dissecting Polyhexian magic. “Show me later?” Prowl asked, shelving her curiosity for now. “We need t’git goin’.”

“Kay.” Jazz slung the bundle of harpoons over her back, checking that one of them was easy to pull free and use and tied the attached rope to her waist, above the sarong. Ready to use. Then she trotted over to the window, “S’right down there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Prowl joined her at the window and pointed. “‘S over there where all th’ _ chimneys  _ are stickin’ up.”

“Kay.” And before Prowl could blink, Jazz was out the window and clinging to a window ledge a story below! She grinned up at Prowl, preening —  _ look at me! I’m  _ **_good_ ** _ at climbing! _ — and started scaling her way down to where Prowl had pointed, claws finding handholds in the fitted stone walls of the castle that Prowl’s blunt fingers — curled in a tight grip on the window ledge Jazz had just leapt over — would have no hope of gaining purchase with.

Prowl let out a nervous vent. She should have seen  _ that _ coming… “Wait fer me when ya get there!” she called after her bondmate. There was no way she was going to get to the kitchens over the rooftops, and between the head start and more direct path, Jazz was going to beat her there.

Jazz just waved back.

Leaving Sundance where she was on the bed, Prowl selected one of the kelapa from her stash and headed out alone to catch up. She had to resist the urge to hurry; that would just have servants stopping her to ask what was wrong. So she walked, calmly making her way through the many hallways to the kitchens.

Sure enough, Jazz was already there when she arrived, standing just outside the noisy, bustling workspace. “How’d ya git back inside?” The windows this far down were far too small for a mech to squeeze in through, for defense, being more arrow slits than  _ windows. _ And there were none near the kitchen.

With a smirk, Jazz shrugged. “There’s an entrance in there.” She pointed to the door of the kitchen. “Was open.”

So the cooks wouldn’t overheat in the workspace, probably. With no windows nearby, the door was the only way to increase the ventilation in there. Pretty effectively too, especially in the winter, when it was cold enough to snow. Which meant Jazz had already been in the kitchen, but had come out into the hall to wait for Prowl.

Hopefully she hadn’t bothered them too much, even if she’d almost certainly surprised them. “Y’try askin’ anyone fer what we need?” Prowl asked, not really expecting her to have done so. Besides her still very stilted Praxan, Jazz just wasn’t in the habit of thinking to ask others to do things she could do herself.

Jazz’s head hung sadly. “Couldn’t find anythin’ b’fore I got pushed out ‘ere t’wait.”

“‘S fine,” Prowl told her. “I’ll ask ‘em t’get it so we both don’t get in their way.” She leaned in to catch the nearest assistant’s attention. “Excuse me? Would you please retrieve a pitcher of plain, midgrade energon and a morning remedy blend for me?”

“Of course, Imperial Princess.” A few kliks later, the requested items were being pressed into her hands.

“Thank you,” Prowl said, accepting them somewhat awkwardly around the kelapa. She turned to Jazz. “Help?”

Jazz took the pitcher and the packet of additives. “Where’re we goin’?”

“Follow me.” Prowl set off again through the hallways, taking the no-climbing route to the prince’s rooms. They wound up not too far from where they had started, her own suite being just a little ways down the corridor. Stopping at the door, she raised her free hand to knock and announce them. “Prince Silverstreak? It’s Prowl and Jazz.”

“Come in!” The prince called brightly.

A servant opened the door silently, revealing Silverstreak’s smile of greeting as he stood amid the splendor of his sitting room. His rooms were, if possible, even more lavishly decorated than Prowl’s. Much heavier on the gold, at least, and some of the molding on the walls had embedded gemstones. There were only three gilded chairs set out, to go with the three plates and small ceramic cubes on the low carved table. Laid out on it was a bubbling pot of warmed, blue energon and a collection of relatively plain gold leafed treats.

“Don’t bow,” Silverstreak commanded before Prowl could do so or prompt Jazz to. “You’re still the princess. Where’s your tiara?”

Oops. Prowl kept her doors from lowering in embarrassment. “I felt it wasn’t in keeping with my other ornaments,” she said to cover her oversight. It really would have looked at odds with her Polyhexian garb if she’d remembered to wear it. Silverstreak’s, by comparison, didn’t look out of place at all on his helm.

Of course, it helped that Silverstreak almost  _ always  _ wore a crown. It was hard to imagine him without one, since when he wasn’t wearing the more impressive, formal crown, he had a smaller, “casual” one. Even here in his own rooms he was wearing it, the subtle blue gems sparkling on each of the small, triangular points of tightly wound silver filigree as a symbol of his status. King Bluestreak was not going to let the prince lapse into the same bad habits as the princess!

“Those really are something,” Silverstreak agreed, gesturing for them to sit. “I’d never seen anything like them before last night.” He waved for the servant to leave. “Hello, Jazz,” he greeted the Polyhexian directly, smiling nervously.

“Come sit,” Prowl told her, trading the recovery mix for the kelapa so Jazz could present it and the energon as her contribution. “‘E’s welcomin’ us. Says ‘e likes th’ornaments we’re wearin’.”

Jazz’s chest puffed as she preened. “Brought food,” she said, holding out her arms.

“She brought fuel to share. The kelapa is one of my favorites she introduced me to,” Prowl said, selecting a chair. It wasn’t big enough for Jazz to share with her, so she preemptively moved it a little closer to the other so they could be close. “Please, take them.”

“That’s very nice of you both,” Silverstreak accepted the pitcher and the kelapa. He put aside the pitcher quickly, but the metallic-fiber covered not-quite-sphere he held and examined. “This is interesting. It certainly doesn’t look edible.” He paused to let Prowl finish translating. “Thank you, Jazz.”

“Here.” Now that her hands weren’t full, Jazz selected another one of her bracelets, a nice one of multicolored glass beads, with an occasional pearl interspersed, and pulled it off. “Can have this one.”

“Is this for me?” Silverstreak asked, considerably more excited by the gift than Mirage had been with his. “It’s beautiful!”

“It is,” Prowl said, confirming both the question and the statement. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who finds the aesthetic pleasing.”

“It’s pretty different,” Silverstreak said, smiling. He set aside the kelapa to take the gift. “And it’s nice of her to just give it away like that. Pearls are expensive.” He put the bracelet on and smiled wider, looking directly at Jazz. “Thank you.”

“You arr well-com,” Jazz said haltingly, then preened.

Silverstreak’s nervousness seemed to be fading, which Prowl took as a good sign. After how shocking the fight between Jazz and Arcee had been for him, she’d been a little concerned. “Should we begin with the cubes, or would you like to see how the kelapa is, in fact, edible?” she asked, prompting Silverstreak.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’m such a bad host.” Silverstreak  _ didn’t _ scramble to fix his mistake, but only because he had been trained out of such undignified things as  _ scrambling. _ Carefully, he poured a measure of the steaming energon into each of the small ceramic cubes for each of them. “Though I  _ am _ very curious how to eat this thing.”

“Have some’a th’energon first, then offer t’show ‘im what t’do with th’kelapa,” Prowl said, taking two of the cubes and handing one to Jazz. With the prince’s attention on her intended, she surreptitiously poured the recovery powder into her energon and slipped the empty packet into a fold of her sarong.

“Kay.” Jazz tasted her cup, then after a moment took a larger sip. The cup was thankfully too small for her to noticeably gulp it!

“How was your evening after the… the fight?” Silverstreak asked delicately. “It sounded a lot more fun than a trip to the hospital wing.”

_ This  _ time Prowl couldn’t keep her doors perfectly still. “It was a very nice evening,” she said, not going into detail. “I hope Arcee is doing alright this morning? You were very attentive to her,” she complimented him.

“Her medic is very good,” he said, not dwelling on Prowl’s indiscretion. “He completed the repair last night. She has to rest today, but should be back up and maybe,” his voice wavered, “fighting again by tomorrow.”

Jazz watched the exchange, but didn’t try and comment. Prowl supposed it was obvious even to her that it was his fellow royal he wanted to speak with.

“You seem troubled by the prospect,” Prowl said gently. “It was your first time witnessing anything other than a training exercise or formal duel, wasn’t it?”

“It was. It was so… brutal,” he shuddered. “And I know full scale combat will be worse.”

There was no way for Prowl to soften that reality. “It will be. In ways I have yet to see or experience myself,” she admitted. “I wish for both our sakes, for our people, and the people of Kaon, that we were living in more peaceful times, but it seems likely we shall both have more than ample opportunity to expand our educations.”

“Arcee says that Primus warned them when she was chosen as the next Prime. She was so obviously going to be a warrior-Prime that it could only mean bad times were coming.” Silverstreak shrugged uncomfortably. “She knows a lot about Primus; I haven't told her yet that I’m probably going to join the church of Solomus like the king. Or Mortilus, if I have to go to the battlefield.”

“I doubt she would hold such a choice against you. What discussions we shared on the subject of religion were open to the idea of others finding their own paths. My membership in the church of Epistemus,” which she had chosen more out of an obligation to make a choice than any sense of conviction, “did not bother her.”

“That helps, Thank you, Prowl.” Silverstreak placed his ceramic cup down gently next to his plate and used a pair of silver tongs to serve a couple of gels. “It seems silly now, but last night I wanted to see you today, so I’d know you were alright.” His gaze flicked to Jazz, who was busy copying him and serving her own gels. She tried one, then made a sound of appreciation.

“Lemme feed ya?” she whispered to Prowl.

“How do you deal with the knowledge of what your own bondmate has… is capable of?” Silverstreak finished, speaking over Jazz’s offer.

“I suspect I am not done coming to terms with that knowledge,” Prowl said, thinking of Jazz’s raids on Praxan ships. She’d dealt with that reality so far mostly by not thinking about it, but spending a full vorn — set of seasons — in Polyhex would make continuing to do so impossible. “In many ways, however, it has helped to be more cognizant of what  _ I  _ am capable of.” The shift her magic had undergone had not been without some heavy realizations, after all. Even in the castle in the center of the capital of the kingdom, Prowl always made sure some of her memorized spells were combat spells. She did not walk around defenseless anymore. “And it helps to remember that, while she is capable of doing considerable harm, it is not  _ all  _ she is capable of. She is also smart, compassionate, creative, and loving.” She turned to her beloved with a gentle smile. “Yeah, this time y’can feed me.”

Jazz trilled in happiness. She snatched up one of the treats from her plate, nibbled it as though checking that it was a good one, then offered it to Prowl, placing it on her lips. Her expression was so  _ adoring… _

Prowl took the treat, kissing Jazz’s fingers in the process. “Mmm.” They really were good! “Thanks.” She continued looking at her, even as she addressed the prince again. “Yes, her people are fierce warriors who commit atrocities on the seas. They are also fun-loving revellers and merchants, with a marvelous appreciation for life and a strong desire to provide for one another — often all in the same person.” Jazz was certainly all of those things, and more. “She is beautiful, inside and out, and I love her.”

Silverstreak smiled. “I see that. I’m glad you found someone to love. I get along very well with Arcee — she’s a marvelous teacher! — but I don’t know that I love her, or that I ever will.”

“You may yet someday, but even if you do not, it isn’t required.” No more than it had been for Prowl to love her. Such was the nature of a state marriage. “To have found love like this is something I never expected, and while I do not regret it, it has not been without its drawbacks.”

“Would’ja like m’t’show ya how t’open th’kelapa?” Jazz offered, obviously thinking that enough time had passed for her to make the offer. All three of them had finished their initial servings; Prowl hadn’t even realized she’d been drinking hers!

“She’s offering to show you how to open the kelapa,” Prowl translated, “if you are ready.” She had no problem changing the subject, but Silverstreak had clearly wanted, even needed, to discuss certain things with her. She didn’t want to leave him wanting for answers or support.

Fortunately, whatever he’d been hoping for, he seemed to have gotten it. “Sure!” Silverstreak’s answering smile was bright. “Like I said, a lot of it seemed rather silly in the morning after I’d recharged. And I definitely want to find out how this thing can can be edible.”

“Your concerns are not silly. You are learning. That is not always easy, though I would argue, always admirable.” Prowl smiled back at him. She genuinely liked Silverstreak, and looked forward to seeing him continue to learn and grow. “Learning how to eat a kepala, however, is not as difficult as it first appears.” She set aside her empty cube and sat back to make room for Jazz. “Y’wanna show ‘im or talk ‘im through it?”

“Newlin’ should learn t’do it ‘imself,” Jazz said. “S’important t’know how.”

For a Polyhexian, maybe, but Prowl doubted Silverstreak would ever see an unprocessed kelapa again. At the same time though, she knew he’d enjoy learning. “Talk’n guide then, an’ I’ll translate.”

She didn’t have to translate Jazz’s first instruction though, because she simply reached across the table to grab Silverstreak’s hands and position them on the kelapa, demonstrating where to look for the telltale indents as she described them. “See? Y’can feel ‘em under th’fuzz. Now, take this,” Silverstreak jumped slightly when Jazz drew the long hole-poking knife and handed it to him, “an’ hold it while I find somethin’…” She trailed off, leaving Prowl to show him how to hold the knife while she went around the room picking things up and weighing them. That made Silverstreak curious, but Prowl knew what she was doing. There weren’t a lot of hefty rocks in the rooms of the heir of the realm.

Actually, what did Jazz usually do if there wasn’t a rock available? Did she have a rock stored on the catamaran (or, Prowl guessed, in the things in her guest room right now) as a backup?

In any case, what she came back with this time was a doorstop. “Gotta come down hard with th’knife t’git in, harder’n ya can stab so ya gotta bang on it real good with somethin’ heavy.” She mimed for Silverstreak how to strike the pommel of the knife to break through the shell. “Can’t hesitate. ‘F ya don’t hit it hard enough it’ll crack th’whole thing ‘stead’a drillin’ a hole.”

“You have to do it in one strike,” Prowl translated the same warning she had gotten when she’d done this the first time, “or the shell will split and the liquid inside will be wasted.”

“Maybe I’m not the best person to do it then.” Silverstreak said nervously.

“Newlin’ needs t’do it fer ‘imself,” Jazz insisted again, responding to his anxiousness rather than his words. Then she backed off to watch.

“You can do it,” Prowl encouraged. “Brace it so it doesn’t slip, line up the knife, and then come down hard and swift with the doorstop. You have the coordination. Just bring your confidence.”

“Confidence.” He took in one long in-vent and let it out slowly. “Alright.”

With the precision Prowl had come to expect from him as an archer, he took another breath and as he released it, came down right on the hilt of the knife, driving it cleanly into the shell.

“I did it? I did it!”

“Aka! Yes!” Jazz came back over to retrieve the knife. “Now drink.”

“Go slowly,” Prowl added. “It’s very sweet.”

“But I wouldn’t want to drink too much and leave you without any,” Silverstreak said, collecting the cubes they’d used before to pour out the liquid evenly rather than drinking from the shell. Prowl didn’t try to stop him, though Jazz seemed confused at first.

“‘E’s tryin’ t’be fair about how much we each get,” she explained.

“Kay.” Jazz accepted her cube readily, but she waited for Silverstreak to taste his first.

“Try it,” Prowl said, trying not to be impatient. It had been sooooo long since she’d had the actual kelapa liquid and not just the treats made from the crystals inside the shell!

It was worth waiting though, to see his expression transform at his first taste of it. “Oh, wow! It  _ is  _ sweet. And so potent! I can see why you like it so much.” Jazz couldn’t understand him, but she preened anyway, which made Silverstreak giggle before addressing them both. “It’s almost like highgrade. Are you sure it isn’t?”

“I still wonder sometimes, but she assures me it’s not. It ain’t, is it? Highgrade, I mean?” Prowl asked Jazz, then purred happily at her first sip. “Mmmm…. Swear s’almost better’n highgrade.”

“Ain’t  _ highgrade,” _ Jazz assured. She cuddled up to Prowl (blatantly ignoring the one-person-per-chair rule) and kissed her helm.

“Well, there you have it. Not highgrade.”

They did all savor it as though it was, however. The slow, small sips had the benefit of providing time to talk about the unique flavor, and to once again explain the Polyhexian habit of kissing to show casual affection.

“It’s not  _ just _ for casual displays of affection though, is it,” Silverstreak said slyly. Prowl couldn’t keep her doors from reacting this time at the reference to her indiscretion last night, though at least the prince didn’t mean anything malicious by it. She knew she’d be enduring far worse from others until she left for the islands.

“There’s more in it,” she said, conversationally hiding behind the kelapa as Silverstreak poured out the last drops from the empty shell.

“Really?”

Showing him how to use the twist-pry knife to split the shell and reveal the delicate seed crystals within was easier. He wasn’t as hesitant to use force, and let out a gasp of surprise when it fell open. “Oh wow. Those are pretty.” Silverstreak looked down at the glittering, milky white crystals growing on the inside of the shell, like a geode. “They almost don’t look edible, like something we’d use for jewelry.”

“They are nowhere near durable enough for use in jewelry, though they would be quite pretty.” Prowl reached into the shell and broke off one of the crystals with just her fingers. “Try one.”

“Sure!” Silverstreak delicately took it and nibbled on it.

Prowl saw the exact moment the chalky texture registered. The prince didn’t make a face or spit it out (like she had) but he froze, his field went flat, and he swallowed with resignation rather than enjoyment. “That’s… different.”

Jazz snickered. “Ain’t kiddin’; some people like ‘em like that.”

“Clearly ‘e ain’t one of ‘em anymore’n I am.” Maybe she should have warned him, but the opportunity had been too good to miss. Prowl wasn’t going to make fun of him though. “They are made considerably better by the addition of energon,” she told him, pushing the pitcher they’d brought from the kitchens toward him. “That’s why we brought this, to pour in after grinding them up.”

“Show me?”

. 

.

.

“My beloved is illiterate,” Prowl said bluntly to those gathered at the large table later that cycle. To her surprise and pleasure, Silverstreak had been assigned by the king to be the primary negotiator for the bonding contract. He was assisted by Mirage, an ambassador named Beacon, and a general from the border between Praxus and Iacon named Ares who was becoming a specialist in arranging military cooperation between two very different armies. She wanted to come on strong to this group, lay down some rules before they began negotiations. She wouldn’t have been able to be so blunt to the king, and was grateful to be facing the prince instead. Not only could she speak more frankly, but he was kinder, and hopefully less interested in Mirage’s agenda. “It is not ideal, true, but Polyhexian religion restricts literacy to their priestly caste. However, Warrior Jazz has determined I fit the criteria of a priest by their definition, so I will be reviewing the contract on her behalf.”

Her bold statements, said without first waiting for Jazz to speak, quite plainly informed everyone that she would be negotiating on her behalf as well. Prowl was adamant:  _ Polyhex _ could not promise anything (through Jazz or otherwise) until after her trip to the islands, to understand their place in this world and speak with their leaders. She had to trust King Bluestreak understood this, or else he would not have taken her aside to tell her what he wanted out of Polyhex personally before she’d left for Hightower.

Next to her, Silver translated the proceedings for Jazz, who was once again dressed in her full armor, Arcee’s sword back in the bundle of harpoons on her back. The full garb of a warrior. They’d had only a few kliks before being ushered into the smaller dining room to discuss his duties specifically for this meeting. He would be translating the conversation into Polyhexian for Jazz and answering her questions as best he could, but anything she said to the assembly, Prowl would translate for Crimson, the scribe tasked with writing down all exchanges by all parties during the negotiations and with writing up the contract itself, to record.

Small and intimate as this room was (to give the illusion that this was a discussion amongst friends), Jazz was once again relegated to her own chair and clearly unhappy about that. But she was also determined to do what she needed to do to marry Prowl. That generous nature was something Prowl was determined no one would take advantage of.

Nor was she going to allow them to force her to do any more than was  _ truly  _ necessary. Mirage had tried to make a scene about the weapons at the outset, no doubt hoping to prime the negotiations to focus on Polyhexian aggression in order to wring extra concessions from Jazz, but Prowl had successfully turned that on its head. Very sweetly, she had explained that in accordance with her own tradition, her beloved wore her weapons to show that she was a great warrior and willing to defend her new clan-by-marriage from attack as long as she was a guest in the castle.

“That’s okay,” Silverstreak said before Mirage could say anything snide. He had, unfortunately, been insightful enough to remove Sundance from his lap before the proceedings began. Her familiar was an occasionally difficult pest, but Prowl would have liked to have her report of what the notes the prince was consulting read. “I’m more interested in seeing you happy,” he smiled, leaning forward. “And safe. We don’t know what a bonding means for Polyhexians, and while the bond itself might be unbreakable, I want to define under what conditions she — and Polyhex, of course — will relinquish her claim on Praxus’ princess, and let you return here.”

Mirage was too controlled to show his reaction to that, but Prowl imagined it was quite sour. “Imperial Prince,” he said quietly, “surely Praxus is due some benefit.”

“Of course.” Silverstreak turned his smile on the noble. “But I think the health and happiness of the Imperial Princess is of higher priority right now, given the specifics of the situation.” By which he meant that the actual  _ bonding _ was already done, and with Prowl being so adamant in standing between Jazz and anything underhanded, there wasn’t much point in discussing anything else.

Under his impassive mask, Mirage looked like he’d just eaten one of Jazz’s hexbugs, still alive, chirping, and kicking.

“As any treaties for our mutual benefit fall under the purview of future negotiations through my efforts as an Imperial Ambassador, I agree that our focus now should be on what this contract contributes to and means for my ability to perform that role,” Prowl said. Laying out in official terms how much time she would be required to spend in Praxus rather than abroad and under what conditions she could be recalled was something they could actually accomplish now. Something that wouldn’t be built on so much speculation it was almost guaranteed to be impossible to adhere to.

“Excellent!”

Somewhere underneath the table, Sundance snickered. “You should hear Mirage’s fuel pump! He’s about to blow a fuse!” She purred and Prowl saw Silverstreak’s gaze flick down there and guessed she must have rubbed against his leg. “So is Ares. Beacon’s pretty calm though; this isn’t a surprise to him.”

“To that end,” Silverstreak continued over the cat’s speech; he might know enough about familiars not to let Sundance spy on his notes, but the idea that she could still pass Prowl useful information from the floor didn’t seem to have occurred, “I suggest we have Ambassador Beacon outline just what is expected of an Imperial Ambassador, and what courtesies one is owed by her hosts.”

“By all means,” Prowl said, ceding the floor to the ambassador. She was already familiar with what he had to say, but this would allow Jazz to hear what Praxus expected and give her thoughts on each point raised. Some of them Prowl was confident would be no issue whatsoever; others, she wasn’t as sure about, but that’s what these negotiations were for.

“At the most basic, an Imperial Ambassador requires food and shelter to keep her in good health, and respected by those she will be negotiating with,” Beacon began listing. “She must be protected from foreign attack and internal strife both. Lines of communication must be maintained between our Ambassador and her home state. Her letters should be carried to and from her residence with all due haste and arrive untampered with. An Imperial Ambassador requires freedom of movement. She should be free to travel to and from Praxus whenever she wishes. She should be free to move about Polyhex, so she can meet with the leaders she must negotiate with, not isolated on a boat, though it is understood that an Imperial Ambassador may be required to have an escort during her travels. Diplomatic immunity from legal persecution is also essential.”

By the time Silver finished translating that list, Jazz was looking a little overwhelmed. “Wha…?”

“Please slow down,” Prowl asked on her behalf, “so we can address each item individually.”

“From the beginning then: food and shelter,” Beacon repeated calmly, without irritation over the request. “Will you, Warrior Jazz, and Polyhex, provide adequate food and shelter to the Imperial Princess while she is among you?”

Jazz puffed her armor in offense. “I’m a  _ great _ food finder!”

“Are.” That one Prowl had expected. “She is confident in her ability to provide for me.”

“But will it be  _ enough?” _ Beacon stressed. “Beyond not starving, an ambassador is expected to be fed and housed in a manner fit for her station.”

Before Prowl could form a rebuttal, Ares gave an explosive sigh. He lowered his doorwings deferentially as the two royals and Mirage all looked at him. “Imperial Prince, if I may speak?”

“Of course, General,” the Prince said mildly. “Please do.”

“You’re asking too much,” he said bluntly to Beacon.

“General…” Mirage said warningly.

“With all due respect, Your Lordship,” Ares bit out, “I’m here to provide my expertise, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Rightly so,” Silverstreak said. “Mirage, please keep in mind  _ I _ have been put in charge of the proceedings by His Most Honorable Imperial Highness, not you. You will be allowed to address your points when they come up. Go on, General. The Ambassador is asking too much?”

“So, uh,” now he hesitated before gathering himself again, “correct me If I’m wrong, of course, but Warrior Jazz isn’t an ambassador or leader; she is, at best, a general like me. She can’t promise to house the Imperial Princess in a lavish castle, unless it’s her own residence. She can only promise to provide what she herself has.”

“The General is correct,” Prowl put in. “Jazz has promised to provide everything she can as my bondmate, but she cannot promise more than she has.”

“What she  _ has _ is a diminutive vessel unfit for an ambassador, much less Praxus’ Imperial Princess,” Beacon protested.

“What she  _ has,” _ Prowl corrected, “is a warship of the highest caliber craftsmanship, of the sort my intended assures me is affordable only to the greatest warrior-leaders. The fact that it is small is a mark of  _ prestige.” _ Actually Prowl had no idea if that was true; Jazz and Ricochet might have such a small boat for no other reason than it needed no more crew than themselves, but she didn’t want to keep arguing the point. Besides, Jazz had bragged about her kattumaram often enough that Prowl did know only exceptional and successful warriors could afford their own boats; larger ones had more room, yes, but were generally under the joint ownership of a group.

And they were slower. Anyone who had read the reports from survivors of Polyhexian raids knew that it was the pirates’ speed, maneuverability, and tendency to swarm, that made them so dangerous and gave them their ability to chase down their targets.

Jazz’s gaze bounced from one mech to the others, trying her best to follow the conversation. “What’s wrong with m’kattumaram? S’th’ _ best _ boat in m’clan! Thought y’liked it!”

“Is,” Prowl assured her. “Nothin’s wrong with it. I  _ do _ like it! They ain’t never seen it though, so I’m tellin’ ‘em how good yer kattumaram is.”

“Tell ‘em Rico’n me won th’Tooth race three times!”

“Will.” She’d ask Jazz what the  _ Tooth Race _ was later. Prowl turned her attention back to the table. “My intended confirms my words: her catamaran is an exceptional residence, and a vessel of honor, gaining her victories not just in war but also thrice in a racing competition of great prestige.”

“Sailing contests? That I’d like to see someday,” Silverstreak spoke up before the Ambassador could resume the argument. “I think that’s settled. Warrior Jazz can and will provide a suitable residence for the Imperial Princess. Next point.”

“An Imperial Ambassador must be kept safe from attack, both external and internal,” Beacon said after gathering himself. “Ideally she would bring along her own retinue of servants and guards—”

“No,” Prowl interrupted. Aside from the fact that the catamaran was barely big enough for three people, much less a  _ retinue, _ “In all our written history, no Praxan, no  _ mainlander, _ has ever been allowed to come to the Islands like this.” It was entirely possible that others from Hightower or other coastal settlements had been taken as mates over the course of history, but if so, they had not made it into Praxus’  _ written _ chronicles — possibly by never making it  _ back  _ from the islands once adopted into their new clans. “That I am welcome can be assumed, given the circumstances, but I will not aggravate my hosts by assuming a boatful of what could be mistaken for an invasion force will also be welcome.”

“Then how does Polyhex plan to keep the Imperial Princess safe?” Beacon asked pointedly.

They paused, waiting for the translation to catch up.

“Huh?” was Jazz’s answer.

Prowl couldn’t help but chuckle. “They wanna know what happens if there’s a raid while I’m on th’islands.”

“Yer a powerful priest-mage. Y’can take care’a yerself.”

The answer — the confidence in her that it represented — made Prowl feel warm. “That’s sweet’a ya.”

“S’true!” Jazz smiled, obviously certain of the fact. “Anyone tries t’carry off yer chuno, y’will hit ‘em with a sparkle-blast an’ that’ll show ‘em.”

Having fought both Jazz and Ricochet, Prowl knew discouraging a spirit-possessed warrior wasn’t that simple, but it was something she knew she could do if needed. However, the idea that she would be expected to defend herself would not go over well with the others. “They just wanna hear ya got m’back if I need help, that th’clan’ll look after me like one’a their own.”

_ “Are  _ one’a th’clan,” Jazz said, confused. “Why’s that need sayin’?”

“Cuz Praxans like t’put all th’things in words.” It might seem absurd to Jazz, but it was important. At least now Prowl had something she could say that would be both truthful and somewhat more palatable. “By virtue of our bond, Jazz’s kin will consider me as one of their own. They will come to my aid as they would for any member of the clan.”

Beacon’s optics flickered in well-concealed surprise; host nations were required to take care of ambassadors or face consequences, but even if an ambassador married a native they were still considered  _ other _ and treated accordingly. Jazz’s easy assurance that wasn’t the case with Prowl and Polyhex was hardly something he could complain or argue about.

“Very well,” he recovered. “The next point is lines of communication.”

“The distance and mode of travel will understandably make regular communication difficult,” Silverstreak put in.

“Of course,” Beacon said, “but if Polyhex is going to keep their borders closed to our messengers, it falls on them to deliver your letters.” That Polyhex was currently considered a hostile nation (insofar as it was considered a  _ nation _ at all) by Praxus went unsaid.

“To a degree, their ability to do so will depend on the desired frequency of communication — specifically, certain times of the vorn will be easier to deliver letters during than others due to weather and the demands of their lifestyle.” Reception in Praxan ports being iffy aside, Prowl could imagine it would be much harder to convince anyone to carry a letter during the storm season than the harvest season.

“I — and the king — would like to be updated as frequently as possible,” Silverstreak said. “What do the two of you believe is feasible?”

“Jazz?” Here Prowl was going to have to rely on her bondmate’s estimations. “How often’s reasonable t’send someone t’drop off a spell t’let m’clan know I’m alive?”

“Can bring ya back every harvest season,” Jazz said. “Or if y’don’t wanna come back, one’a m’warriors can carry a spell t’Hightower instead. Whatever y’want, beautiful.”

Prowl knew that was less frequent than the king would want. She could also foresee the potential need to send messages more often, even if she couldn’t picture the specific circumstances right now. “I’d feel better knowin’ we can either come back t’Hightower or send someone any time if there’s an emergency, and maybe send somethin’ just t’say hi so they don’t worry each season.”

Jazz was already shaking her head. “Ain’t fair. Even if someone could git close every season, they’d need t’bring somethin’ back or th’clan’ll git mad an’ we won’t have trade goods t’sell.”

“An’ if my clan’d give ‘em something in return fer delivering messages? Dunno what, I’d have t’ask,” Prowl said, not wanting to pose that question until she knew it was worth asking, “but would that make a difference? What would make it fair?”

That interested Jazz, and she thought about it, but finally shook her head again. “Maybe once in awhile, if it was a good war-prize. But I’d be short a boat while m’warriors delivered yer spell. Can’t participate in raids like that, an’ that’d take away th’status’a m’warband an’ me as a leader. Would lose m’warriors after too much’a that, if m’twin didn’t knock m’silly an’ take over. An’ if another clan attacked while m’warriors were here? I could lose ‘em an’ th’boat permanently while they fought t’defend Prax.”

All good points as far as Prowl could see, but how would Silverstreak and the others take them? “She can guarantee a visit or letter at least once during the trade season, but during the remainder of the vorn the demand for all of her warriors to be present, and often not close to Praxus, makes sparing anyone with any regularity an issue.”

Silverstreak frowned.

Mirage on the other hand, leaned forward. “Perhaps if Polyhex were to open its borders,” he said, neatly sliding his agenda onto the table, “and stop attacking our ships and cities, we could retrieve the Imperial Princess’ messages ourselves.”

Silverstreak was nodding. “That’s a good point.”

“It cannot be the immediate solution, however,” Prowl reminded the prince. “Jazz cannot extend our ships unrestricted safe passage at this time, though that is not to say it may not potentially be viable in the future, at least in part.” Even if all they could agree upon was a way for Praxan ships to approach, if not enter Polyhexian waters, and be allowed to return unmolested, it would improve things from a communication standpoint. Mirage wouldn’t be satisfied with just that, of course, and honestly Prowl hoped for more as well, but it was perhaps a place to start. “Any chance’a comin’ up with some kinda signal t’let a Prax ship get close enough t’pick up a spell without gettin’ attacked, like th’signal y’had t’come inta Hightower durin’ th’storm season?”

“Nope.” Jazz shrugged. “Even if m’clan would agree t’it, we ain’t th’only clan that’d wanna take th’ship. Prax boats can’t git t’th’Islands anyway. Carcharhinidae’ll eat th’boat an’ feed th’sailors t’ ‘is kin. If Moana didn’t take it first.”

Prowl decided to leave out the parts involving Polyhexian gods and focused on the part Silverstreak and the advisors would understand: “She can only speak for her clan, and only in a limited capacity, and many clans would be involved in such an agreement. Is a contractual communication during the trade season with an understanding that efforts will be made to improve said communication acceptable at this time?”

“If you’re sure it’s the best we can expect, then I suppose we will have to accept it,” Silverstreak was obviously unhappy with that arrangement, but, “Record that, Crimson,” he didn’t give anyone the opportunity to argue.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that their ‘priest-mages’ not read your mail,” Mirage put in snidely.

“Of course we can ask,” Prowl answered, without attitude of her own. “Whether they will give such assurances and whether or not you believe them if they do are separate matters.” It was really pretty naive to assume an ambassador’s correspondence would remain private, even when promises were made that it would be, and Mirage knew it… which just made getting to point it out to him all the more satisfying! Prowl had enough composure not to openly gloat, but it was satisfying to hear Sundance snickering again under the table.

“Moving on,” Silverstreak announced before Mirage could respond.

“Freedom of movement,” Beacon brought up the next point. “An Imperial Ambassador should be allowed to return to Praxus whenever she wishes, be allowed to move around within her hosts’ country, and given access to the leaders she is supposed to be negotiating with.”

“Weather and mechpower conditions permitting, I already have her assurances of my ability to return to Praxus when I desire to.” Those conditions were rather limiting, true, but they were also beyond Jazz’s control. The ambassador to Vos was unable to come and go easily as well, as a result of the difficult terrain that lay between their capital city and Praxus. While not ideal, the situation was not unique. “As for movement within Polyhex…” That was something they hadn’t discussed at all. “‘M I gonna get t’meet other clans besides yers?”

“Sure,” Jazz said easily. “Everyone’ll be there fer th’harvest, ‘cept th’warriors.”

“The trade season brings together peoples from multiple clans. I will have the opportunity to meet with many of them with little travel required.”

“Excellent,” Silverstreak smiled.

“Diplomatic immunity,” Beacon forged on.

Prowl heard Silver struggling with that one and saw the growing confusion on Jazz’s face. “Y’know how ya got certain protections when ya visit Hightower?” she said, hoping to use that as a means of describing what Beacon was getting at.

Jazz shrugged. “Hightower’s… Hightower. S’fun.”

“Fun, yeah, but there’s rules too. Rules about what yer allowed t’do.”

“Try an’ recharge on th’street an’ outside a camp an’ they put ya inna cave until yer sober again?” Jazz offered, like she wasn’t sure if that counted. “Guards chase us away from th’castle? If they catch us,” she tacked on with a smirk.

So much for that idea. If Jazz didn’t know there was a difference between what was expected of the citizens of Hightower and what she and other Polyhexians were allowed to get away with, then Prowl wasn’t going to be able to make an easy analogy from it. “Right,” she said anyway, deciding to try explaining from there instead. “Guards’ll chase ya away from th’castle if they catch ya, but they don’t do anything else. ‘F a Praxan gets caught sneakin’ inta th’castle, they get put inna cave and have t’pay th’guard before they can leave.”

Jazz just tilted her head curiously. “Why?”

“T’discourage ‘em from doin’ it again.” As she was trying to find the vocabulary she needed and coming up empty in both Polyhexian and the trade argot, Prowl began to wonder just what concept of “law” Polyhex actually had. They obviously had traditions and codes of behavior they adhered to like laws, but what system did they have to enforce that adherence? “‘S’a problem when people do bad things. Makes life harder fer everyone, so there’s rules about what yer not allowed t’do and rules fer punishments if ya do bad things anyway.”

“Sure,” Jazz easily agreed with  _ that _ at least.

“What kinda rules does Polyhex have fer people who do bad things?”

“If y’git caught? Could end up challenged by th’person y’offended. Or put t’trial by th’gods. If more’n’s needed, then,” Jazz said a word Prowl had never heard before.

“Whazzat mean?” Prowl really hoped it wasn’t “execution”, though trials and challenges sounded like they had the potential to be fatal already.

“Sent away?” Jazz translated tentatively. “Can’t live in th’village, can’t go on raids, can’t lead warriors. No one looks at ya, no one hears ya when y’speak. Can walk around, take food, but… y’don’t exist. Sometimes, if y’offended th’gods’n spirits too much, yer spirit guide’ll leave ya. Ain’t even part’a th’world then.”

_ “Exile,”  _ Prowl gave the Praxan word for the closest equivalent they had, but to her, the Polyhexian version sounded much worse. Being barred from living in a particular place and living with the stigma of having been exiled wasn’t the same as being excluded to the point you no longer existed to the people around you, and the thought of losing Sundance… Prowl felt her spark constrict painfully.

“Here!” Sundance suddenly meowed loudly from Prowl’s feet, rubbing up against her and purring just as loudly. “Up! Pick me up!”

Prowl reached down immediately and cuddled her close, taking comfort in the contact and the feel of that deep purr vibrating against her plating. “Never want to lose you,” she whispered, stroking Sundance’s head and ears. “Ever.”

“Won’t. Love you.” Sundance purred, rubbing her face against Prowl’s.

“This looks like a good time to call for a break,” Silverstreak said firmly. “The lounge and balcony have snacks served; let’s retire there and reconvene in a breem.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Prowl said gratefully with a deferential lowering of her doors. “Wanna step outside?” she asked Jazz, nodding toward the balcony. She could finish collecting herself and then maybe finish trying to explain the concept of diplomatic immunity. Given Jazz’s repeated assertions that she would be a member of her clan, she suspected there would be some resistance once she understood what Beacon and the others were asking for. It was a little contradictory to ask to be treated as a member of the group in some cases, then demand exceptions in others.

“Sure,” Jazz wrapped her arms around her comfortingly and  _ coo-ruu’d. _ She led Prowl out to the balcony while the others retreated to the lounge. Prowl saw Mirage send a calculating look their way, and caught Jazz hissing warningly at him. Sundance was still purring when they closed the balcony doors behind them.

“Don’t hiss at people,” Prowl said, almost by rote. Jazz just wasn’t good at following rules.

“Sorry,” Jazz said, suddenly a lot less confident than she’d been while the others could see her. “Didn’t mean t’scare ya. Ain’t gonna happen. Yer a bright spark; m’clan’ll love ya…  _ Coo-ruu, coo-ruu… _ Prowl. I’m sorry.”

“Know y’weren’t tryin’ t’scare me.” Prowl leaned into her bondmate’s arms and focused on drawing in deep, even vents of cool air. She really would be all right, and didn’t blame Jazz at all for her reaction. “I just hadn’t realized that  _ could  _ happen, an’ even if it ain’t likely, it’s a horrible thought.”

“Is,” Jazz agreed. “But it ain’t somethin’ th’clan can make happen. Y’gotta offend yer spirit so bad it can’t be with ya. Gotta change so much yer spirit ain’t th’same.”

“Promise you’ll tell me long before you leave if I ever start offending you that much,” Prowl said, kissing Sundance’s face. “Okay?”

“Would,” the cat purred as she nuzzled her mage back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Feeling much better emotionally, Prowl shifted focus back to the derailed topic, though she didn’t let go of her cat. “Basically why I was askin’ ’bout all’a that stuff is they wanna know what yer clan’ll do t’me if I do somethin’ wrong — ‘specially if I do somethin’ wrong by mistake cuz I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

“Ain’t anyone’ll be mad at y’fer doin’ somethin’ wrong.” Jazz assured. “Yer learnin’, like a newlin’. S’why harvest season’s a good time fer ya t’come t’the islands.”

“An’ I promise I’ll learn all I can.” She was looking forward to it, in fact. “I ain’t plannin’ on makin’ mistakes that’ll cause big problems! But that’s what they mean by  _ diplomatic immunity _ — bein’ let off’a consequences if mistakes happen.” Which sounded a bit like dodging responsibility when put that way, but, “With  _ ambassadors _ t’other nations, if they mess up they get sent back t’Praxus t’face consequences, instead’a bein’ dealt with wherever they were.”

“Can’t send y’back fer every little thing,” Jazz pointed out. “I’d end up exiled if y’kept dodgin’ outta challenges’n trials t’go t’Hightower.”

“‘S only big stuff they get sent back fer. Little things they’re just supposed t’apologize fer and not do again.” Which did lend itself to certain abuses, though of course enough little things could add up to a big enough reason to send an ambassador home. There were whole treaties worked out with each nation regarding appropriate conduct of and toward ambassadors to ensure that relations went as smoothly as possible. “It’s a lotta rules that’ve been worked out over time, and there ain’t any in place yet with Polyhex. I know there’s things ya can’t do and can’t agree to, and I’ll remind ‘em we’re at th’beginning of somethin’ new.” In fact, Prowl decided she could use that very fact to sidestep things. She could point out that the very circumstances that let her do this — being adopted into Jazz’s clan — made her subject to their laws. They couldn’t ask she be treated as one of them some of the time, then given exceptions other times. However, she could lay the groundwork for later ambassadors who  _ weren’t  _ married in, and how they would be treated by Polyhexian law.

“Kay,” and this time Prowl could tell it was the version that meant  _ I heard you.  _ That was alright. Jazz didn’t need to wrap her processor around the whole complicated mess right now.

“I don’t wanna see ya gettin’ punished cuz’a me,” Prowl promised. “Won’t go dodgin’ challenges.”

“Shouldn’t,” Jazz said firmly. “Yer a powerful priest-mage. Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin.”

Someone knocked on the door leading out to the balcony.

“Yes?” Prowl called, pulling somewhat (but not completely) away from Jazz.

“May I come out?” Silverstreak asked, cracking open the door. “Ares and Beacon are arguing and I wanted to escape… and I wanted to make sure you’re alright,” he tacked on honestly.

“Of course.” Prowl smiled at the prince as he joined them on the balcony. “Thank you for your concern. I was caught off guard by something I had not previously considered, but I am fine now. Please, join us where it is colder, but quieter.” She whispered to Jazz, “Th’others’re arguin’ an’ bein’ noisy so e’s hidin’ with us.”

“If ‘e don’t wanna watch, then sure,” Jazz said easily.

“Thank you.” Silverstreak took a seat next to the table where the treats had been set up. “Might I ask — informally and off the record — what about diplomatic immunity caused such a reaction?”

“I had asked about what laws Polyhex has pertaining to the punishment of criminals. One of the things Jazz listed for severe offenses was the possibility of being abandoned by one’s spirit guide; not as something the clans can instigate, but rather a natural consequence. Regardless, the thought that I could somehow drive Lady Sundance away was unsettling.” Even if Silverstreak didn’t understand the difference between a spirit guide and a mage familiar, the loss of a familiar was significant in its own right. “I apologize for allowing myself to become so distracted.”

“We needed a break anyway,” the prince dismissed. “And that’s horrible. I hope you don’t lose your familiar.”

“As do I. Fortunately, she has assured me that she has no intention of going anywhere.” Prowl glanced down at the contented ball curled up in her arms. “Though perhaps not wanting to be cold has something to do with that in the immediate sense,” she teased lightly, even as she settled back into the warmth of Jazz’s arms around her. “I cannot say that I blame her though.”

“Meanie,” Sundance meowed. “Love you.”

“Good. I’m glad to see you’re alright.” Silverstreak said. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about during negotiations that might be better to bring up now, in private, first.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“The bonding itself,” he answered seriously. “If you’d fallen for someone from Vos or Kaon, we’d naturally want to put limits on your intended’s excesses and temper, so I want to make sure she, and Polyhex, can’t just do with you what they will.”

“Oh!” That hadn’t even remotely occurred to Prowl as a potential problem. Jazz treated her as an equal, and with considerably more confidence and respect for her independence than many Praxans did. It was the exact opposite of being forced into a subordinate role as a mate. “Bondmates are partners in Polyhex, not dependents. When she talks of providing for me, it is not with an expectation that I do nothing material in return. Not all mates live together at all times,” she explained, thinking of the arrangement Ricochet had with Smokescreen, and of other pairings of warriors and villagers Jazz had spoken of who spent entire seasons apart. The only requirement seemed to be that mates be part of the same clan, with the bonding ritual automatically adopting one participant (the kidnappee) into the other’s if they hadn’t been of the same clan to begin with. “Each person should be capable of taking care of themselves so they can do even better for each other through their combined efforts.”

“That’s a comfort,” Silverstreak acknowledged. “And her temper? What is the normal behavior of bondmates toward each other… we don’t know, and I want some sort of protection in place. I am speaking as your Prince and future monarch, Prowl,” he said over any potential protest.

Prowl considered, then replied, “I realize the outward appearance of a courting ritual that involves kidnapping isn’t a good one, but that very ritual embodies the cultural importance of consent from both partners in each union. She has never once violated my personal space or boundaries once I have made them clear, has never laid a hand on me with the intent to do harm, and though it broke her spark, she let me go to return to my people instead of carrying me off to sea and forcing me to bond with her. What further guarantee would you have in the contract? Tell me and I will put it to her. I cannot imagine she would disagree.”

“Only some assurance that that behavior is the norm, and will continue,” he replied, “and acknowledgement that there will be repercussions if it does not.”

Prowl turned in Jazz’s arms so she could look at her properly. “‘E’s askin’ somethin’ pretty important.”

She nuzzled Prowl back. “Hmmm?”

“‘E wants t’know yer not gonna hurt me. Not cuz ‘e thinks ya would,” Prowl stressed, since it wasn’t a personal accusation at all, “but ‘e wants it in th’contract that ya never mean ta, with th’understandin’ that if ya do, my clan’ll be pretty upset about it. Upset enough t’fight over it.”

Jazz’s armor started to puff up in offense, then smoothed out as she relaxed. “Sure. If there’s anythin’ left when y’an’ Rico’re done with me, they can have th’rest.”

Prowl leaned in and kissed her. “Yer th’best.”

“Am!” Jazz kissed back.

Sundance yowled in protest of being smooshed.

“Sorry,” Prowl said with a conciliatory pet, then looked back to Silverstreak. “She promised Praxus would have the right to whatever her twin and I leave of her if such a thing ever happened. Which it won’t.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Silverstreak did seem relieved. “You may not be the heir, but you are Praxus’ Imperial Princess, and there should be consequences to mistreating you. And,” he added with a softer smile, “the king and I are both fond of you, and want to see you protected. I’ll have this added to the contract before we officially reconvene.”

Prowl smiled back, touched by the show of affection the concern implied. “Thank you. It means a lot to know you wish things to go well for me personally, not just for Praxus. Even as I wish for my marriage to benefit more people than myself.”

“It will.”

Silverstreak left them shortly after that to make good on his promise. Prowl relaxed against Jazz, enjoying the quiet moment together for as long as possible. Soon they would have to return as well, but all things considered, they were off to a pretty good start.

.

.

.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like last chapter, there are several inspiration pictures we'd like to show off. We tried to make sure the descriptions were clear enough, but the pictures were interesting: 
> 
> Energon tea: 
> 
> http://aerylon.tumblr.com/post/167838847344/illogicalshockwave-for-all-you-tea-addicts-out
> 
> Sliverstreak's crowns:
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/69/c6/91/69c6915b4353e3438a04049481e5cf67.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/236x/04/25/d0/0425d0ec23215905e1c7e12f4d83ae18--male-crown-bridal-crown.jpg


	8. Chapter 8

Of course that was only the beginning, and only the barest struts of what needed to be in the marriage contract. Mirage pushed for a dowry, and Prowl sweetly informed him that she had already received one, and she wasn’t required to share. Then there were all the other traditional items to address, and the wording thereof. Working out all the fiddly details of all the fiddly clauses and sub-clauses took cycles.

Cycles during which Jazz became more fidgety, and more breaks were needed to keep her from climbing on the table, the chairs, and, in one memorable case, the chandelier. She also teased Prowl incessantly, both under the table and over, and on one memorable break they ended up merging just inside the servants’ entrance to the dining room turned conference room.

Mirage needled her constantly about each escalating misbehavior, until Prowl wanted to do something  _ very _ un-princess-like and strangle him. Which didn’t exactly help Jazz behave; she sensed the tension and responded to it with aggressive posturing that only barely fell short of outright challenges. The result was Silverstreak calling for yet another break, which held up the whole proceedings even further.

At long, long last, however, they finally had a completed contract the prince and his advisors agreed addressed the most important of their respective concerns, and which Prowl felt did not ask anything unfair of Jazz.

She still insisted on reading the final draft one last time, much to Mirage’s irritation. Technically it was a little insulting, implying that she didn’t trust them not to have made alterations to the document between their discussions and physically committing the words to ink, but she didn’t care. It was worth appearing suspicious in her mind, even when it proved to have been an unnecessary precaution.

To her credit, Jazz remembered that the contract was something she was supposed to sign when it was done. That had segued them nicely into talking about the wedding itself, since the signing actually took place during the ceremony.

Working out all  _ those _ details had been even  _ more _ cycles of headaches. The inclusion of a team of wedding planners hadn’t made things  _ less _ stressful!

Prowl wanted the ceremony to be endurable for Jazz. Jazz wanted whatever Prowl needed. The king wanted it to be suitably grand both for the public and for those foreign ambassadors in Praxus, as a statement of where they officially stood on the issue of the princess’ marriage.

Mirage, as far as Prowl could tell, just wanted her to be miserable.

Prowl… Prowl would do her duty, to her king and people and endure what she had to to get this  _ over with. _ She didn’t have to enjoy it.

Though watching Mirage and several other nobles’ near apoplexy when she showed them the tiaras Compass had given them and insisted they be the crowns used in the ceremony did give her a few minutes of amused satisfaction. Compass had overstepped himself, but Prowl  _ would not _ have her bondmate insulted by using a hastily constructed crown for her crowning.  _ Someone _ had cared enough about the potential benefits of this union to show their appreciation, and it hadn’t been Mirage!

But overall the stress left her more resigned than either excited or nervous waking on the morning of the wedding itself.

“This time tomorrow it will all be behind us,” she reminded herself, sitting up and searching through the pillows to find Jazz. Her bondmate might have been uncomfortable with the opulence of the berth at first, but she had really taken to it since that first night. “Mornin’, beautiful,” she said when she located her helm. “‘S time t’get up.”

“Ain’t,” Jazz said, wrapping herself around Prowl and burying them both in the pillows.

“Is!” Prowl insisted with a short kiss. “Got lots t’do b’fore th’ceremony.”

“Like feed me!” came a muffled meow from somewhere else in the blankets. “You have to feed me!”

“Startin’ with feedin’ Sundance, apparently.”

“Can’t start ‘til we git there,” Jazz pointed out. “Y’can feed ‘er, then come back t’sleep.”

“Can’t come back t’sleep. I gotta be in th’parade through th’city, remember?” Ordinarily they would have both been in it, but after the way Jazz had reacted to riding into the city, there was no way Prowl was going to put her through that again. How could they even have the ceremony following it if they couldn’t get Jazz down from the ceiling or out from under the furniture? But the king had insisted the processional could not be cut out, so Prowl had agreed to do it alone. The addition of a gauzy curtain on the carriage windows and Silver to provide a second shadow within would create the illusion that both of them were inside. “That starts at midday.”

“Can’t start without ya,” Jazz repeated.

“Hungry!” Sundance wriggled onto Prowl’s chest and started purring that rather obnoxious note that specifically meant she wanted to be fed.

“I am, remarkably enough, aware that you are hungry,” Prowl told the persistent little pest. “Need ya t’both lemme up.” She felt Jazz’s arms release her, but Sundance didn’t move until Prowl sat up, threatening to tip her into an undignified heap on the bed. “Just cuz they can’t start without us don’t mean we can sleep all day,” Prowl told Jazz as she slid out of the berth and went into the sitting room to feed her black and silver tripping hazard. “Need ya t’get up or we’re gonna…” Huh. She  _ still  _ didn’t have a Polyhexian word for being late. “They ain’t gonna be happy if we make ‘em all wait.”

She returned to find Jazz on all fours on top of the blanket, stretching like a cybercat. She made a pleased, rumbling growl as she flexed every joint and piece of plating, sinking her claws into a pillow at the head of the berth. She extricated them much more delicately than other cats did, but it still made Prowl wince. So did a quick glance at the clock. “C’mon,” she said, holding out her hand. “They’ll bring us somethin’ fer breakfast while we’re gettin’ cleaned up.” They didn’t have enough time to linger over fuel this morning.

“Kay.” Jazz took her hand, then used the grip to pull Prowl into a deep, passionate kiss. She felt her other hand wrap around her, touching and teasing the sensitive spots on her spine. Not for the first time, Prowl noticed that the few glowing lines Jazz had painted on her since the first set she’d had during their bonding had slowly migrated to highlight her sensitive areas.

“Can do that later,” Prowl said a little breathlessly when the kiss ended. “Supposed t’do that later, even.” Though of course they wouldn’t actually be using the time meant for forging their bond to do anything other than strengthen what was already there. “Yer far too distractin’, y’know that?”

Her answering smirk said very plainly that she did know how distracting she was, and was it working?

Prowl huffed and let her have one more kiss, then firmly pulled her out the door.

Because of the amount of detailing they both needed, they were being afforded the privilege of using the king’s personal facilities. There just wasn’t enough room in Prowl’s for the number of servants required to move about freely without getting in each other’s way. Bluestreak would still have plenty of time to get ready once they were finished, and was likely taking breakfast with the court when they arrived.

“Thank you,” Prowl said to the servant who let them in. “Would you please have someone sent for energon? We have not had anything yet today.”

“Of course.”

Since they needed complete repaints, sanding off their current paint was the first task. Jazz’s was somewhat complicated by the decals Prowl had given her; those would have to be removed. Though usually they would be considered a quite appropriate decoration, and many of those attending the wedding itself would be wearing similar ones themselves, Jazz’s plating needed to be pure white.

Silver yawned as he stepped from where he’d been waiting nearby to translate while the two intendeds were led by a chattering gaggle of servants to separate stalls to start.

Jazz glanced at Prowl, starting to look panicked.

“What’s wrong?” The shower itself wasn’t unfamiliar to her anymore; was she feeling crowded? “They’re just ‘ere t’help.”

She shook, a full body movement that rattled her plating in a way Prowl knew wasn’t actually aggressive, but which made the servants back off a step before trying to swarm in again. Jazz’s next hiss  _ was _ one of warning. “S’like a flock’a kokako. They even sound like ‘em. Ain’t trustin’ m’beads t’a kokako!”

“Would ya trust Silver t’look after ‘em?” Prowl would have offered to do it herself, but she wouldn’t be able to while she was being taken care of. “If they hand ‘em t’him t’watch?”

“Yer not comin’?”

“I’ll be right here,” Prowl gestured to the stall next to the one Jazz was in front of.

Jazz hissed again, and the servants, who had paused while the two of them spoke, backed up another step. “How’re y’gonna wash’n polish m’from there?”

Oh. Prowl felt ridiculous for not having realized. Every other time they’d washed since arriving in Praxus, they’d washed each other. She’d always sent the servants away so they could enjoy the time alone together (and not always just washing), making this the first time Jazz was encountering this. “We both need t’git washed’n polished, so they’re gonna help so it goes faster.”

Jazz’s glare around her was more suspicious this time. “Nuh-uh. Ain’t.” She backed up, away from the servants, which happened to be further into the shower stall. Taking that as their cue that Prowl had finished convincing her to settle down, they closed in.

Yowling, Jazz scrambled up the side of the shower stall to cling to the fanciful moulding along the ceiling.

“Why don’t you all see that everything is laid out,” it probably already was, “and make sure breakfast is taken care of?” Again, probably already done, but the orders gave the servants an excuse to take themselves elsewhere for a moment while Prowl talked Jazz down. “C’mon back down, please? They ain’t gonna touch ya ‘f ya don’t want ‘em to. See?” She came over to stand below Jazz as the servants moved away. “They’re gone.”

With a final glare around to make sure the servants weren’t waiting to pounce, Jazz dropped to the ground with a soft  _ thud. _ She cuddled up to Prowl, burrowing into her arms, almost demanding to be soothed. Such cat.

What a wonderful start to an already stressful cycle!

Prowl did what she could to help Jazz calm down, stroking her plating and holding her close. “I didn’t know it’d upset ya so much,” she apologized. “‘M used to it an’ forgot y’wouldn’t be.”

“Don’t wanna have anyone washin’ me,” Jazz said, with a quiet yowl. “All th’touchin’. Touchin’  _ everythin’, _ all th’spots that make m’shiver, all th’spots that make m’weak… Don’t like anyone here enough t’let ‘em do that.”

“It’s… too intimate fer ya?” Prowl was a little surprised by the notion at first, as she often was when Jazz indicated something she found trivial was outside her comfort zone, but she had every intention of respecting her beloved’s boundaries. It wasn’t like it didn’t make sense, when she thought about it from a different perspective. Jazz’s penchant for casual touch (and not just with Prowl, but also with Silverstreak, Arcee, Silver, Shadow, and anyone else she was on friendly terms with) might be becoming legendary at court, but it  _ was _ always casual (except with Prowl); if she said being bathed was too intimate, then it was. “‘S fine. If ya don’t want ‘em touchin’ ya, we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

“Imperial Princess?” One of the servants had returned and was peeking into the shower stall.

“She is uncomfortable being assisted by people she does not know,” Prowl explained. “If you would simply facilitate her by bringing the supplies she needs and talking her through what to do for herself, without touching her, that would be best. I will take care of anything that requires a second pair of hands personally.”

“Yes, Imperial Princess.” The servant bowed and went to go inform the others of the decision.

Chances were, this would mean there would be a few flaws in Jazz’s finish, but Prowl was beyond caring. It also meant that neither of them would be sitting down to the breakfast that had been prepared for them together. Jazz could have it afterward, while Prowl was in the parade. It might even keep her entertained and not climbing things for a few minutes longer. Prowl would just have to eat in the carriage.

A pair of servants returned with the solvent and the harsh scrub brushes meant to remove their paint entirely.

“No one’s gonna touch ya,” Prowl repeated her promise to Jazz before she could start panicking again. “They’re just gonna explain what ya need t’do, okay? I’ll come help soon as I’m done.”

“Kay.” Jazz still eyed them warily, but she didn’t immediately bolt up the wall. Prowl considered that a victory, and left them to start explaining what to do, Silver echoing so Jazz could understand, while she went back to her own stall to get her own paint stripped.

“Please work quickly,” she told the servants that gathered around her, resigning herself to a moderate level of discomfort for the sake of staying on schedule. “I will have to interrupt your progress when Jazz needs me.”

“As you wish, Imperial Princess,” the most senior servant assured, before the entire flock (and she was  _ never _ going to get the image of them as a mob of cawing, avarice-addled birds out of her head) descended on her. She hissed as the solvent was applied and scrubbed more vigorously than was strictly comfortable, but didn’t tell them to stop or be more gentle. Polish and buffing after her new paint was applied would soothe the scratches later. She would tolerate them.

A twitter went through the crowd, and the artisan in charge of their paint for the ceremony appeared. “Imperial Princess, how does this blue,” his expression twisted in distaste, “stuff, come off?”

“Is it not coming off with the solvent?” Prowl looked down and was surprised to see that not only was the wake-light blue paint not coming off with the rest of her paint, it didn’t even look weathered from the scrub brushes. “I… perhaps it cannot be washed off. I know only that it is designed to wear off, in time.”

The artisan — Prowl was too frazzled to recall his name — frowned.

Even if there was a special solvent, out on the islands, or hidden somewhere in the warehouses of Hightower, it was far too late to do anything about it. They would just have to adapt, and after a frustrated moment of glaring at nothing, Prowl watched the artisan come to the same conclusion. He snapped at the servants to continue stripping the Imperial Princess’ paint and ignore the bright blue lines. Idly, Prowl let herself finally conclude the paint was truly magical, not a mere alchemical effect of the two pigments combining as they were painted on, or else the lines wouldn’t remain even as the paint underneath them came off her plating.

From there the whole thing took on an air of barely-ordered chaos as, with every step of the process, continual interruptions were necessary either for Prowl to assist Jazz with a given task or to explain why it was necessary in the first place. She got a lot of mileage out of the phrase, “please just this once” whenever Jazz protested that something was silly and she didn’t need to do it.

It almost seemed a miracle when they finally reached the end stretch, standing there in their fresh new colors with only the polish left to apply. Jazz had moved so she wasn’t visible in the mirror to examine her (nearly) pristine white frame, fortunately not adding any new smudges to the occasional obvious brush stroke with her fingers as it finished curing. Prowl, meanwhile, took full advantage of the mirror to check that the black covering her frame was as uniform as possible.

Watching the blue lines bleed through the paint to reappear on the surface of her plating was almost as intriguing as watching it refuse to be scrubbed away.

“S’pretty,” Jazz commented. Prowl watched her hand appear in the mirror, tracing the air above the blue lines carefully. Prowl knew that continuing to think Jazz might ruin the paint wasn’t precisely fair, since Jazz had been wearing slightly different patterns during her first courtship of Prowl and coming here, and during the second courtship her paint had been so faded there would have been no salvaging it. It was obvious she’d had full repaints before. But Prowl just couldn’t help worry about it. Probably a symptom of how frazzled she was.

“It’ll be even prettier when we match,” she said to keep from issuing unnecessary warnings to be careful. “Y’know, it ain’t traditional in Praxus, but I like th’way th’blue looks with th’black’n white.” Visually liked it, beyond appreciating the meaning the lines carried in Polyhex. “Didn’t realize it’d do this though.”

“Huh?” Jazz said; obviously it hadn’t occurred to her that Prowl wouldn’t have known that.

“I know y’said it’s magic. I just thought th’magic was th’glow, an’ nothin’ else.”

“We change our paint all th’time,” Jazz said. “Bond’s’re permanent though.”

“Ain’t sayin’ it doesn’t make sense.” It made perfect sense. “I think it’s wonderful.”

Jazz smiled.

It had definitely taken longer than usual to get to this point, but the last few steps went quickly. Jazz didn’t have to be talked through how to apply polish and buff out her finish, and she was determined — and flexible — enough to do most of it without Prowl’s help. There were only a few places she couldn’t reach on her own, and by the time they were all she had left, the servants had finished with Prowl.

“I’m gonna have t’leave soon fer th’parade,” Prowl reminded her as she took care of those final details. “Silver’ll be with me, so Shadow’s gonna step in t’help ya with Verdine.” He would also be with them for the ceremony, translating the speeches and blessings for Jazz (even if she wasn’t interested in them). He’d volunteered for the more publicly visible role, and Prowl had approved; as a guard, he would be more comfortable with it. Silver hadn’t objected, even though his role had meant he didn’t get to sleep in.

“Kay.” Using a smaller hand mirror one frazzled servant had rushed to find, Jazz was examining her own finish, and seemed pleased. Prowl remembered her once describing “Hightower polish” as fun, even if it didn’t last long, and she was finding the full shine of a perfectly groomed Praxan noble just as fascinating now that the process was over.

Prowl felt a little jealous of her right now: Jazz was going to go have breakfast and speak to Verdine about how to serve the ka meli for the feast afterward, then Shadow and Arcee were going to do their best to keep her contained and entertained until the parade was almost over. To that end, Shadow had promised Prowl he was ready to listen to, translate, and record any story or myth he could get Jazz to tell them, and Arcee had a stack of games half as tall as she was. Meanwhile, Prowl had to go be visible for the populace.

“What should I do with these, Imperial Princess?” Silver asked, indicating the jewelry he’d wound up in charge of.

“Thank you,” Jazz said, having gotten better at the pleasantries in Praxan, at least. She picked up the (apparently) offered bracelets and started looping them back onto her wrists.

She had refused to go without the jewelry (or the bundle of harpoons) for the ceremony and Prowl was beyond fighting over it. “Th’ones I gave ya go back on later,” was all she said, since the Praxan decals would be in the way later — more in the way than the bracelets and necklaces. “Y’wanna take ‘em back t’th’sleeping cave?”

“I remember,” Jazz said, as she straightened the pearl choker with the fishing cat tooth hanging from the center that announced for everyone to see that the fishing cat was her spirit guide. “I’ll put ‘em with m’armor.”

“Kay. Use the halls though,” Prowl said quickly. “No climbin’ th’walls t’get places today, it’ll mess up yer finish.” And if she hadn’t said it, she had no doubt that Jazz would have headed for the window rather than the door to make her exit. Even more than the casual touching and the insistence on carrying weapons everywhere, Jazz was infamous in the castle for getting from place to place over the rooftops.

Jazz gave her a betrayed look, but headed for the door instead of the window.

“Have you had any fuel at all this cycle, Imperial Princess?” Silver asked after she had left. “Perhaps we should bring something along in the carriage.”

“I was counting on doing just that,” Prowl admitted. “We slept rather late, and then this turned out to be much more complicated than we had planned for.”

“It looked like it,” he agreed. He snooped around and found the breakfast the servants had left out for the nonexistent free kliks during the detailing. “Here. I can carry them.” He scooped up the pitcher and both cups. “Want me to bring any flavorings?”

“I don’t know that I’ll taste much of anything, but yes.” She wished they were headed for a nap, not a public spectacle, but better her than Jazz. “I have something I need to retrieve from my rooms. I will meet you in the courtyard with the others.”

“Yes, Imperial Princess.”

Jazz was still there when she arrived, carefully hiding her jewelry with her armor. Prowl looked around the room, but didn’t see the tell-tale dip in the berth indicating Sundance was still sleeping. “Did ya see Sundance when ya came in?”

A freshly white finger pointed up, to where the cybercat was perched on the corner of the bed’s canopy. Glaring balefully down at them, the silver spotted  _ pest _ just swished her tail. “No,” she announced. “I am not going to do this very long and boring thing. I refuse. Can’t.” Swish.

“Can,” Prowl countered, “though as it happens, you don’t have to do the whole thing — I’m not going to make you do the parade.” She  _ did,  _ however, need to be present at the ceremony, which was why Prowl was fetching her now. There wouldn’t be time later to chase her down or drag her out from whatever piece of furniture she found to hide under. “Come down here.”

“Nope.” She licked her tail. “Busy. Grooming.”

“Hmm. I guess that means you don’t want this then,” Prowl said, walking back into the sitting room and reaching for the hidden stash of treats. She’d had one made just for this: an edible string with a glitchmouse shaped energon gummy at the end.

Jazz was interested, even if Sundance was pretending she wasn’t. “Nope.”

“Really?” Prowl walked back into the room, trailing the treat behind her so it hopped and bounced along the floor. “Are you sure?”

Sundance’s audio flaps flicked forward to focus on it, but then she yawned and went back to grooming her tail. “Nope. Grooming. Not coming down.”

“Oh, come on!” Prowl picked up the gummy mouse and held it up toward her. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“Sundance!” Prowl said in a plaintive, wailing mew. “Please, this cycle has been difficult enough already. Don’t make things even harder for me.” She didn’t need an uncooperative familiar on top of an uncooperative bondmate, even if Jazz wasn’t trying to be uncooperative.  _ She  _ didn’t want to cooperate with all the nonsense either, but someone had to! It would be nice if everyone else could at least  _ try! _

“Not going to the boring thing!” Sundance meowed back. “Neither of us wants to do the boring thing, and  _ one _ of us doesn’t think we have to so I’m no—AAARROWWWW!”

Jazz grinned from her own perch on top of the canopy, holding the now vehemently protesting ship cat by her scruff armor. She preened, and dropped down to land lightly on her feet, jarring Sundance into a few moments of silence.

Prowl blinked, startled, then quickly reached out to take possession of the cat in an equally secure hold. “Thanks,” she said, trying to banish the tremble from her voice. Crying wouldn’t help anything.

“Said I’d do all the things,” Jazz said softly.

“Better give me the treat,” Sundance grumbled.

“As long as you don’t run off.” Not that she intended to give her the chance. She was just trying to make this as painless as possible for everyone and no one was willing to help! “Would ya keep ‘er from escapin’ while I’m away, or do I need t’bring ‘er with me in th’carriage?”

“Sure,” Jazz said. “I’ll make sure she does all th’things too.” She grinned, while the cat protested loudly about how unfair this all was. Finally someone was cooperating!

“Thank ya,” Prowl said with a deep gratitude in her field. “I just want this t’go well so people’ll talk about how nice it was after, ‘stead’a talkin’ ‘bout what went wrong.” People in the general sense, since certain people were already less than satisfied with all the modifications they’d made to the standard ceremony. But their opinions wouldn’t hold as much weight if the wedding was a popular success.

“Will,” Jazz said. “‘Cuz yer th’best an’ most beautiful mate, an’ anyone’ll see it.”

Prowl’s doors dipped in embarrassment. “Yer th’one who’s th’best mate.”

“Am.” Jazz preened.

Such cat!

Prowl giggled, unable to help herself. “C’mon, they’re waitin’ fer us in th’courtyard.”

Jazz stole a kiss, and took the now-resigned Sundance in a firm and secure hold. Absently she scratched her audio flaps and the cat made a sullen purr.

Treat still in hand, Prowl led them along the winding path to the main courtyard. Unsurprisingly, Jazz commented on how much faster they could have reached it without bothering with all the halls and stairways. Prowl almost asked how she would have managed with Sundance still in her arms, but bit back the question lest she take it as a suggestion to demonstrate.

Everyone was indeed already waiting when they arrived, though it didn’t look like they had been waiting very long. Prowl smiled when she saw Arcee. “Thank you again in advance for your assistance,” she said. “Particularly since I suspect Jazz would prefer to pass the time with another sparring match.”

“And she will get one… via a game of Hive. Once she learns all three hundred and seventy-five individual rules to the game,” Arcee smirked. “And all their sub-clauses.”

“She’ll find a way to make you pay for that,” Prowl warned, but she still laughed. Harpoons weren’t typically involved in playing Hive, but the image of Jazz drawing one of hers to challenge Arcee over the legality of a move was too comical… and plausible, but she would leave dealing with that to the Iaconi princess. “Good luck.”

“As long as it’s after the wedding, I would relish a rematch.” Arcee shooed her in the direction of the waiting carriage (and the heralds, flag bearers, the marching band, and the balloon dancers). “Come on, Jazz,” Shadow hurried to begin translating as the Iaconi princess suddenly addressed the warrior, “let’s let them get the parade,” Prowl noticed Shadow translated that into the trade argot as  _ show-thing _ instead of  _ walking-party _ like she had been doing, “started. I was told you haven’t had breakfast yet.”

Jazz glanced at her, then leaned over to kiss Prowl. “It’s just this once, yeah?”

“Yup. Just this once.” Prowl slipped the treat for Sundance into Jazz’s hand, stroking the cat’s head in the process. “I’ll be back inna bit an’ then we’ll finish all th’things an’ my clan’ll finally see us as bonded.”

“Yep.”

“Go,” Arcee shooed her again. “Breakfast, Jazz, then helping the cook with that stuff you brought for the feast, then I will teach you the most complicated game ever invented by anyone.”

Prowl turned to join Silver beside the carriage while Arcee led Jazz and Shadow back inside.

“Imperial Princess?”

“Yes?” Prowl stopped, looking back at the page walking briskly toward them. “Is something wrong?”

“Your tiara, Imperial Princess,” the mech said. “You are not wearing your tiara. Do you have it with you?”

“I… do not,” she had to admit, cursing mentally. She’d  _ meant  _ to get it from her room when she retrieved Sundance, but it had completely slipped her mind. At least its lack wouldn’t be readily apparent from inside the carriage for the parade. “Please have someone retrieve it from my rooms for me.”

The page bowed and set off for the castle, leaving Prowl to bury her embarrassment and carry on. With a deep vent, she schooled her field and her doorwings and made her way over to the carriage.

“I guess it’s time to brave the crowds,” she said to Silver, looking up at the sky where a heavy layer of clouds dulled the midday sun. It was hard to tell whether or not there was more snow on the way. “At least we’ll be sheltered if the weather turns.”

“Primus willing, Imperial Princess.” Silver climbed up into the carriage after her and the footmech closed the door, engulfing them in the double gloom of the cloudy day and the gauzy curtains meant to keep anyone from seeing that Silver wasn’t Jazz. Outside, the trumpets blasted as the gates began to open.

Silver put the cubes down on the seat next to him and poured one. “What would you like it flavored with?”

“Something smooth and simple would be my preference,” Prowl replied, letting herself lean back heavily against the padded seat for a moment. They’d made it this far. The parade was starting on time. All she had to do now was sit through it without spending the whole time worrying about what was happening without her.

“My boss always said copper is good for nerves, but you don’t seem to have a plain copper, so how about a copper-gold blend?” Silver didn’t wait for an answer and opened a packet to stir it into the cube before handing it to Prowl as they got underway.

The carriage rolled out into the street and Prowl was hit by an almost literal wall of sound from the crowd. Through the curtain she could see castle guards lined up to keep confetti throwers from spilling out into the path of the parade. The potential for bad weather hadn’t deterred people from coming out to see them.

Prowl signalled her thanks to Silver with her doorwings rather than trying to shout over the din. Conversation wasn’t going to be much of an option to fill the breems as they made the full tour of the city, which meant she wouldn’t have that to distract herself from imagining what sort of trouble Jazz might be getting up to. Or what sort of things she might be getting up on. Thank the gods — the five members of the Guiding Hand and all the gods of Polyhex — for Arcee’s willingness to take over herding cats.

Literally.

Prowl prompted Silver to take something for himself and they sat together in companionable not-silence, sometimes waving at one or the other of the carriage windows from behind the curtains. Every so often she would brush one aside (not enough to reveal who her companion was, but) just enough to wave out at the crowd and send them into a new wave of cheering. Silver occasionally leaned in closer to the glass without disturbing the curtain, trying to catch a glimpse of where they were, but Prowl was familiar enough with the city she didn’t need to. What was more interesting to her was the way the sound changed as they went along. It varied in volume depending on how many people could crowd in close to the road along any given stretch, sometimes swelling to enclose them completely when they passed through an area where they could crowd on balconies and rooftops above them. She could also detect changes in pitch, partially the result of the band changing songs but also caused by differences in the makeup of the crowds. The districts where large, heavy mechs and femmes more commonly lived sounded very different from the ones populated by those with lighter frames.

Clouds aside, it really was a beautiful day. Snow had fallen overnight, and though it had been turned into a thick, dark slush at the sides of the road by the crowd, it blanketed the rooftops in a pristine layer of sparkling white.

Hopefully Jazz would be able to relax and appreciate it after the wedding. Hopefully Jazz would be  _ at _ the wedding, instead of up on the rooftop playing in the snow…

Prowl forced herself to calm down and think of something besides all the ways Jazz could accidentally mess up her finish or outright disappear while she was stuck on a carriage for joors and joors. Something like… how they’d be able to finally escape the capital once the wedding was over and the medic assigned to the task had finally signed off on the fact that they really were bonded. That was the journey she was most looking forward to embarking on, though in essence one could say she was beginning it now. More than just a way for Mirage to torture Prowl, the carriage ride wasn’t just a prelude to the wedding but an integral part of the ceremony itself, wherein the couple took a symbolic journey together before they came to the church (or wherever the marriage was taking place) to be officially bonded.

Because even Mirage recognized that it was rather difficult to plunder the riches of a nation via an alliance-by-marriage if one of the participants was hiding under a couch, however, everyone had agreed that, necessity of a parade for citizen morale and participation aside, it would be better if that symbolic journey be a stroll through the  _ private _ and  _ quiet _ Imperial Gardens of the castle.

Assuming all went well — which she was going to, because assuming otherwise would just cause unnecessary stress — Jazz would be waiting for her when they returned to the castle, ready to greet her and join her on that journey. It wouldn’t be their first time in the gardens; Prowl had taken Jazz there to show her the path they would be walking, along with reminding her that digging up seed crystals from the beds to eat was Not Okay. She was looking forward to walking that path again today, of having a moment with just her beloved to think about how much she loved her and how grateful she was to have her. Of all the other parts of the ceremony, designed to show off for everyone else, that moment would be theirs and theirs alone.

The parade had started at midday, and wound around the entire city to give as many people as possible the chance to come out and gawk. The sun was beginning its slow descent back down to wherever it rested by the time the carriage pulled back into the castle gate. The guards, the marching band, all the performers, all became a semi-orderly mob as they broke up and reorganized themselves. Some would be playing additional parts later, in the ceremony or at the feast afterwards, but right now Prowl only had optics for—

“Jazz!”

There she was, standing at the edge of the crowd with Sundance held firmly in her arms. She wasn’t hurt or injured, her plating was still perfectly groomed, and she was  _ there… _ all the things Prowl had been not-thinking about  _ hadn’t happened _ and for the first time this cycle she felt like this wasn’t going to be a disaster.

Next to Jazz, Arcee loitered with a smirk.

“Congratulations, Imperial Princess,” Silver said, sliding out of the way so she could climb down and join her beloved. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied, then stepped out of the carriage and made straight for Jazz. “Lo, beautiful. I missed ya.”

“Lo,” Jazz answered back. “Arcee cheats,” she didn’t sound particularly bothered by this, “an’ I’m gonna put m’harpoon through ‘er smug face when I git m’chance.”

“Lemme go,” Sundance whined, trying to wiggle in Jazz’s secure grip. “Meanie. Hate you.” One of Jazz’s fingers wiggled, scratching the cat under her chin, and Prowl heard her purr. “Nope. Don’t like it.”

“Sounds like y’had an interestin’ time.” Prowl pet the struggling cat, then let her hand drift to stroke Jazz’s arm as well. “Everything go okay with Verdine?”

“I  _ think _ so, but I ain’t sure she knows she’s supposed t’mix it with other fuel ‘til everyone can share.” Jazz frowned slightly, clearly concerned about that, but Prowl knew it wasn’t really feasible. There was so little of the ka meli that, even mixed with the two other ingredients she’d brought, there just wasn’t enough for the hundreds of guests from all over the realm attending to get a share — which was why Verdine had instructions to reserve it for the king’s table.

“She’ll make it go ‘s far’s she can,” Prowl promised, “an’ I know she’ll see th’rest gets shared too.” Probably just as garnishes, since there really wasn’t enough of anything Jazz had brought for so many people, but everyone would at least get to taste something. “Y’ready t’walk with me?”

“Spirits an’ gods, yes,” Jazz grinned and held out Sundance, indicating Prowl should take her.

“I know it’s boring,” Prowl told her familiar as she transferred her from Jazz’s arms, “but it’s important for me to have you here. Not just because they expect me to,” which was true enough, “but because you’re a part of me and my life. We both need to be here so Jazz can accept both of us.”

The cybercat just pouted.

Jazz danced around them as they entered the crystal garden to start their symbolic journey together. Shadow remained behind, as did everyone else. They would rejoin them at the end for the ceremony itself, but for now it was just the three of them.

It was hard not to get emotional. Prowl could feel herself trembling.

_ “Coo-ruu… _ beautiful.” Jazz’s arms wrapped around her, engulfing her in the warmth of her frame. “It’s okay. It’s just this once, yeah?”

“No — it’s forever. I’m gonna git t’be with ya forever.” Prowl risked letting go of Sundance to cling to Jazz instead. She felt the cat settle on her shoulder with a brief nuzzle against her helm. “I’m just so happy.”

“Want y’t’be happy,” Jazz said softly. “Want y’t’be happy with me. S’why I’m here.”

“I know. An’ I love ya so much fer coming an’ gettin’ t’know my clan.” Praxus was far from perfect, and having Jazz here had highlighted some of the less pleasant aspects of her own culture, but Prowl loved her country and her people. For Jazz to accept that part of her and everything that came with it, as difficult as it was for her… it felt inadequate, but all she could think to say was, “Thank ya.”

“You’re welcome,” Jazz preened at saying the Praxan words.

The garden was quiet. Since the snows had started, the gardeners only came here to do essential maintenance, and walking in the garden wasn’t the most popular activity in the winter. That meant the snow from last night was still undisturbed. Those crystal beds that were pruned back to the ground each winter were just mounds of snow, while larger perennial crystals sparkled with it. The path was barely discernible as a trough through mounds of snow and perfectly groomed crystals. It was still overcast, but the threatening snow held off as the sky darkened with the slow descent of the sun behind the clouds.

After how loud and crowded the parade had been, the hushed quiet and solitude of the garden was a blessing. Prowl tried to walk slowly, not wanting it to be over too soon. It didn’t matter that it was cold; the chill just made Jazz feel that much warmer beside her by comparison.

“I’m lookin’ forward t’when it’s just us again,” she said after a little while. “Well, not  _ just  _ us,” because of course Ricochet would be there, “but I love bein’ out in th’world with ya, explorin’ an’ learnin’ new things.”

“M’clan’s gonna love ya.” Jazz nuzzled her. “Y’wanna see somethin’?”

“See what?”

“I’ll show ya!” Jazz released her and suddenly veered off the predefined path toward another part of the garden.

“Where are ya— Jazz!” Prowl hesitated for a moment… then, instead of following the path she was supposed to, broke away to follow Jazz. “What is it?”

Instead of answering right away, Jazz circled one particular bed of large, greenish crystals. She was concentrating on something, and Prowl watched her pace in tighter and tighter circles, occasionally doubling back, honing in on something she couldn’t see. Finally she found what she was looking for and crouched there, waving Prowl over to help her clear the snow.

Prowl knelt beside her, gently brushing away the white powder. The patch of ground underneath seemed completely normal, but Jazz was insistent. She dug into the ground at the base of the crystal, and Prowl winced seeing the reddish dirt on her beloved’s fingers. It was too much to hope the delicate high-gloss finish hadn’t been scratched, and the artisans were going to be upset. Maybe Prowl could divert them to the kitchens or a garden hose to rinse off the dirt before rejoining everyone for the ceremony and no one in the audience would notice?

“Here,” Jazz’s voice drew her out of her worries and musings. Prowl looked at the collection of tiny ovoids she now held in her hands curiously.

“What’re these?” She reached out to touch one gingerly. “Seed crystals?”

“Toys? Treats?”

“Neither,” Prowl pushed the curious cat back up onto her shoulder.

“They’re development capsules,” Jazz said, and touched another just as gingerly. “S’a hot spot. Fer hexbugs.”

“Really?” Right here in the royal garden? Tiny, brand new lives, incubating among the crystals. “Wow…” Prowl had never seen a hot spot before, not outside the pages of her books.

“So they  _ are _ treats,” Sundance sniffed, leaning forward again eagerly.

“Not yet they’re not! They haven’t finished growing.” Prowl took one of the delicate little shells for a closer look. “How long till they’re ready t’come out?”

“Dunno. Can’t tell ‘till a few sunrises before they do, when the capsules turn clear’n rubbery. Y’gonna eat that?” Jazz looked at the one in her hand. “Can. They’re good t’eat.”

“See!” Sundance meowed, vindicated.

Prowl sighed. “Fine. You were right.” She held the capsule up so Sundance could snatch it from her fingers with a  _ snap!  _ of sharp teeth. “She was insistin’ they were food th’whole time,” Prowl told Jazz.

Jazz shrugged. “I ain’t hungry. Just thought y’would like t’see it. Could bring ‘em t’th’feast after th’ceremony…?” she trailed off.

“Did like seein’ it,” Prowl said, thinking about what to do with them. Leaving them in the ground would probably annoy the gardeners, who viewed them as pests — not that removing these would stop new hexbug sparks from settling here in the future. But digging them up would give them a reason to stop by the kitchen and wash Jazz’s hands. “And yeah, let’s bring ‘em t’th’cooks.”

Prowl tried to keep her own hands clean as they dug out the little capsules, a couple dozen in all, but she knew she would be washing her hands too.

Like almost everything else Jazz had brought, these wouldn’t be safe to consume by followers of Primus, especially the extremely orthodox members of Iacon’s church of the Primordial Duo. As they wandered back through the garden, no longer sticking to the path but just wandering where they wanted and looking at things they found interesting, Prowl wondered how Iaconi maintained their gardens. She knew Iacon  _ had _ crystal gardens, if not ones as extensive as Praxus’, because Arcee had talked a little about them when she’d first arrived in Praxus for their engagement tour. The gardeners would be forbidden from killing the hexbugs, but since some of them flew, Prowl couldn’t imagine simply moving them would be an effective method of pest control.

They were a few capsules down by the time they finally wrapped up their wanderings, as Sundance insisted on eating a few more (and on batting one around in the snow to chase). Prowl had given in to her curiosity and tried one as well, though Jazz stuck to being not-hungry and passed. It wasn’t bad; crunchy, a tad bitter, but not moving!

By the time they’d dropped the new treats off at the kitchen and washed their hands, they were a little late returning to ceremony, but that was okay. There was some leeway built in for their private journey together, designed for, if not the exact form their deviation had taken, at least some measure of the unexpected. The artisan did wind up tutting over their scratched hands, until Arcee stepped forward with a soft cloth, a jar of polish, and a knowing smirk. Prowl took a moment to thank her for being such a good friend.

In a moment they were going to step back out into the entrance courtyard of the castle, in view of all the guests as they finished their journey together at the altar. Prowl could already hear the din, though thankfully it was nothing like the cheering and noise of the crowds out in the city during the parade. These were people who had been invited to the ceremony itself, but with Prowl’s insistence on cutting the number of people inside the throne room with them by more than half, weren’t able to get inside. Mostly nobles from the far reaches of Praxus, but peeking around the corner of the castle while Jazz and Arcee sniped at each other (without bothering to wait for Silver’s translations) over the polishing cloth, Prowl could see Guildmasters, merchants, and other influential non-nobles from the capital as well.

There had been a time when no one not in the nobility would have been allowed on the castle grounds, ever, much less to witness a royal wedding. Prowl was of the opinion that loosening some of the strict functionalist doctrines their country, and all the Gallifaran nations, had been founded on was a change for the better.

Just because some things weren’t as rigid as they had been in the past, however, didn’t mean she could throw tradition completely out the window. It was why the elements of the wedding had been altered rather than eliminated, and why she received several disapproving looks when the servant who’d been sent for her tiara handed it to her.

“Can’t believe I forgot it again,” she muttered, trying to get it situated correctly on her head.

Jazz shrugged. Except for the barest minimum of jewelry and her harpoons, she was nearly naked compared to what a Polyhexian warrior would normally consider ceremonial attire.

Arcee gave her a nod when she got the tiara positioned, and Prowl took one last second to settle her plating and make sure Sundance was secure on her shoulder. “Ready?” she asked Jazz. “Just like we practiced.”

“Yeah. S’just this one time,” Jazz smiled and held out her hand for Prowl to take. As princess, Prowl would be a step ahead of Jazz, though she had insisted they walk next to each other, instead of single-file as would be traditional.

If she was holding Jazz’s hand, her beloved was less likely to bolt and start climbing the columns to get away from all the people.

The music, which had been playing softly for the entertainment of the guests, grew louder and changed to a traditional Praxan wedding march. The violino player who was the centerpiece of the orchestra was exquisite, and Prowl could hear the melody carried by that one instrument clearly, especially as the crowd quieted and turned to watch the couple’s anticipated entrance into the courtyard in response.

With a smile and a loving squeeze, Prowl twined her fingers with Jazz’s. “Let’s go.”

She felt Jazz hesitate as they rounded the corner and a few people started to clap. Instead of building to a thunderous crescendo though, it remained scattered applause; everyone allowed inside the castle walls had been told very firmly that there was to be no clapping until the very end.

Jazz’s steps weren’t perfectly measured, pulling Prowl out of sync with the music, but they made it to the entrance of the castle without mishap. Here there were fewer people, and it was quieter. Only the very highest ranking nobles, Silverstreak, Arcee, the City Lords and those closest to the king, as well as ambassadors from foreign nations tasked with taking the news back to their homes, had been allowed inside. They were sorted into neat rows instead of crowded all together, and a wide path down the center of the great hall had been marked with a carpet of silversilk.

The king and Silverstreak both still sat on their thrones on the dais, but an altar had been set up just in front and below them. A plain solid-sided table of pure, clear crystal, it was incongruous among the gold and silver and gems that bedecked the rest of the room.

“Shiny,” Jazz whispered. “I can…”

“No stealin’,” Prowl whispered back as she brought them both to the altar and knelt to the gods and the king both in a single gesture. Jazz mirrored her, this time much more coordinated about it. Shadow slipped in to stand just behind her, ready to translate the speeches to come.

“Rise, Imperial Princess Prowl of Praxus; Warrior Jazz of Rainclouds Island of Polyhex,” King Bluestreak said, waiting for them to do so before continuing, addressing the crowd. “Citizens of Praxus and beyond, we stand here to witness a historic event: the first formally recognized marriage between a citizen of Polyhex and a citizen of one of the broken pieces of Galifar. And not just any citizen, but an Imperial Princess of Praxus. Before this, any diplomatic overtures to those who inhabit the Rust Sea have met with polite denials… at best.” A titter of laughter went through the gathered crowd. “It is a point of great pride and honor that Praxus has been given this chance, and a great accomplishment of our Imperial Princess to be the one to achieve it.”

As arranged, while the king (then Silverstreak, then a succession of speakers including Arcee, Mirage, and Ultra Magnus) held everyone’s attention with the unavoidable speeches, the artisan in charge of their appearance melted out of the crowd and gestured it was time for them to be painted in the other’s color. It was why Prowl was wearing pure black today, since Jazz had been all white (except for her glowing paintmarks and metal and gem decals) during the negotiations.

Circles of stones, rare white stones that had allegedly once been collected from the forest surrounding the city, had been set up just past either end of the altar. There, the painters waited with the priests.

“Let ‘em do their job,” Prowl whispered just before they separated. After the difficulty with having anyone wash her this morning, she really hoped Jazz could tolerate the ceremonial application of the paint. “Just this once.”

Jazz looked at the various paintbrushes and tools warily, but she didn’t jump or hiss or act out when the artisan stepped forward to start directing his subalterns. Prompted by Shadow, Jazz pushed her bracelets up onto her arm so he could start on her hands. The islander was visibly uncomfortable, and (probably owing to this morning’s freak-out) only one subaltern stepped forward to apply the paint under the artisan’s direction.

Prowl didn’t get that consideration; as soon as she stepped into the circle, mechs and femmes descended like a flock of silent birds.

She actually paid attention to the long, rambling speeches as something to do, somewhere she could focus her attention. It was better than worrying about how Jazz was doing, or listening to Sundance’s quiet commentary. Her familiar had leapt clear of the frenzy of brushes and was sitting daintily beside the altar, saying some very  _ un _ dainty things about the overblown nature of the whole affair.

Naturally, even though hers was more extensive, Prowl’s paint was completed first with so many hands involved in the application. Now she turned to watch Jazz, offering what support she could from a distance while the subalterns stepped back to allow the paint to dry.

There were a few murmured exclamations of surprise as the blue lines once again reasserted themselves anywhere they had been covered with white paint.

“…conclusion of such a harrowing adventure,” Silverstreak was wrapping up his speech, “has brought us all to such a joyous conclusion!”

Prowl barely heard either Shadow’s translation or the herald outside repeating everything for those in the courtyard before soft applause filled the room. Jazz’s armor bristled but she held herself still so her paint could dry.

Mirage and Ultra Magnus (whose speeches were thankfully fairly  _ short) _ finished right as the artisan pronounced their paint cured, and Prowl and Jazz were told they could hold hands and come over to the altar while Arcee said her piece.

Prowl rather liked what she had to say. It was lighthearted and personal, and, like Silverstreak had, she focused on the personal side of this union, speaking as a friend, rather than making another stuffy discourse about the various presumed benefits of the marriage. Finally, as she wrapped up, she offered her own blessing as a Paladin of Primus, in lieu of there being a priest of the Creator of All present. It was a good note to end on, as they moved into the next phase of the ceremony.

Now the priests who had presided over the paint came up to the altar as well; a priest of Epistemus representing Prowl’s chosen church, and a priest of Mortilus standing in for Jazz’s faith. They had debated which sect of the Guiding Hand would be the most appropriate, since there was no way to have a Polyhexian priest-mage present, and in the end had gone with Mortilus for his role as the patron of soldiers. Primus had been the other contender, but Jazz’s insistence on carrying weapons at all times had been the deciding factor.

“Y’doin’ okay?” Prowl whispered as the priest of Epistemus began his blessing.

“Just this once,” Jazz said the words like they were a prayer themselves.

The priest of Mortilus’ blessing was short and to the point, almost curt: “As living mechanisms we all walk in the shadow of Death, soldiers and their bondmates moreso than most. To take up a weapon is to accept the possibility of death; to marry a soldier is to accept that one day that bond may be broken on a nameless battlefield. So may your spears always fly true, your shield always stand strong, your swords always be held high with honor… And when your mate falls, Imperial Princess, have faith that your warrior’s spark has been carried with greatest care to rest in the Well of All Sparks, and that you will one day join her.”

It was a beautiful sentiment. Prowl couldn’t help but think of their sparks flying up to join the stars instead.

“Please speak your vows to each other.”

“I will provide for you,” Jazz said the words she had painstakingly memorized haltingly. Accordingly, they were relatively short. “I will love you and cherish you, for you are part of my own spark. I was not complete until I met you, and I will never be complete without you. My spark is your spark, in this world and the next. Forever.”

Prowl waited while the two priests worked together to tie the sparklight-blue dyed rope around the couple’s wrists where they held hands. The knot was not the traditional one; once the (rather transparent) symbology had been explained to her, Jazz had insisted another knot be used. Apparently the traditional knot was utterly useless and stupid, while the knot Jazz chose was used for joining two pieces of rope, seamlessly and securely, so they could be used as one piece. It certainly felt secure as the priests finished it. Prowl hoped Jazz would be able to undo it later so they wouldn't have to cut themselves free.

As Jazz still couldn’t understand most Praxan, Prowl had kept her vows even shorter; short enough that her beloved would be able to learn the words quickly and understand them without Shadow’s help: “My spark is your spark. Forever.”

“In the optics of the gods, you are now one,” the priest of Epistemus intoned.

The priest of Mortilus presented the contract, resting on the altar and two inkpens. Prowl signed her name with a flourish. Jazz was a bit more hesitant, her “writing” hand being the one bound to Prowl. Prowl helped, supporting her and moving with her as she drew the fishing cat that was to be her legal signature.

It was as beautiful as Prowl could have possibly hoped.

“In the optics of all peoples, you are now one,” the priest said once they were done. Then both priests returned to their former positions by the stone circles, leaving the contract on the altar.

King Bluestreak stood and came down off the dais; Silverstreak trailed a step behind him, holding a large cushion upon which rested the two crowns Compass had commissioned for them. The king picked up the contract and paused, as though reading through it one last time, then silently added his own signature in the proper place as witness.

“In recognition of your bonded’s status as an Imperial Princess of Praxus,” he said after replacing the contract on the altar, “it is our honor to crown you, Warrior Jazz, as Royal Consort.”

The silver shell tiara sparkled as he lifted it from the cushion, holding it above his head for all to see. Prowl squeezed their joined hands, prompting Jazz to bow her head to receive it. She did her best, but Prowl could see her trying to simultaneously look down and watch the king lowering the crown. She twitched as once again there was a smattering of uncontrolled applause when the tiara settled on her head, then visibly forced herself to relax. “I do okay?” she whispered, the words lost to everyone but Prowl.

“Y’did fine,” Prowl assured her as Bluestreak gave another short speech about the responsibilities of her new role. The king didn’t list everything in detail, but nothing he said was not covered in the document Jazz had agreed to and signed. “An’ y’look beautiful.”

“Course I do!” Jazz glanced at the waiting crown. “Yer gonna be beautiful too. Are beautiful, even without extra pretties.”

“Imperial Princess Prowl,” King Bluestreak intoned. Prowl turned her attention back to him as he addressed her. “In recognition of your new status…” She bowed her head, feeling the weight of her regular tiara disappear. The king set it down on the cushion and took up the golden shell tiara, raising it aloft. “It is our honor to announce you as our Imperial Ambassador to Polyhex!”

That earned a louder round of muted applause, which Jazz didn’t flinch quite as hard at. Maybe she’d been expecting it this time and was better prepared for the moment Prowl’s new crown was placed on her head.

“All th’matching,” she commented under the current of the king’s speech regarding Prowl’s new duties as an ambassador.

“Yup.” Colors and crowns, paint and markings, they were a matched set. But the match that mattered most to Prowl was the one between their sparks.  _ Love!  _ pulsed in her chest, and it was with a giddy smile that she recognized the same coming from Jazz. “My mate.”

“Now it is time to show the kingdom the strength of the Imperial Princess’ new bond with her Consort.” Bluestreak stepped back, which was their cue to bow again then turn to make their way back out of the throne room the same way they’d come in. The band started up again, playing something upbeat and lively. Jazz’s steps sped up as the crowd started clapping behind them, as though to usher them along.

Prowl stepped out of the doors back into the courtyard. It had grown dark during the ceremony, and everything was lit with flickering torches and lamplight and the occasional headlight. Guards pushed the crowd back, away from the newlyweds’ path. These mechs clapped too, and Jazz nearly skipped her way up the staircase leading to the top of the castle wall to escape it.

Up on the wall, Prowl could see the sun below the clouds, not quite sunken completely out of sight. Red and orange blazed over the horizon, lit up the underbellies of those furthest clouds, and gleamed off of every snow covered surface. Too early and too overcast for stars, there were still thousands of pinpoints of light sparkling up from the city below as they reached the edge of the wall to look out over it. It looked like all of Praxus was gathered beneath, crowded up to the castle wall.

With a mixture of joy and trepidation, knowing what would follow, Prowl raised their joined hands triumphantly.

The multitude of mechs and femmes who’d come to see them erupted in cheers and applause. Jazz squawked, and, with aggressively fluffed armor, tried to draw back down to the stairs and the relatively small, polite crowd in the courtyard.

She looked like she was about to fly apart.

“Jazz.” She probably couldn’t hear her — Prowl could barely hear herself — but she called out to her anyway as she turned toward her beloved, taking her free hand in hers and pulling her close. “Jazz, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Jazz  _ wasn’t _ hearing her. Her visor was overbright with disorientation and panic, on the very edge of summoning the fishing cat to help her fight her way out of the “danger”.

“Jazz!” Prowl brought her hand to her face, gently stroking her cheek and turning her head so she wasn’t looking at the crowd, but at her. She brought her own face close, nuzzling her nose against Jazz’s. “I love you.”

And she claimed her lips in a kiss.

Behind them the sun finished setting, light fading from the sky, and around them the crowd continued to cheer, loud as a thunderstorm… but Jazz kissed back desperately. The panic faded from her, but the tension didn’t, and Prowl noted it, tracking it as an undercurrent as she deepened the kiss. It was a distraction, yes, and it wouldn’t work for long, but for as long as it did she would pour every ounce of feeling she had into it. Jazz was hers, and she was Jazz’s, and all of Praxus knew it.

The last rays of light shone on the perfect moment.

.

.

.

End (for now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last reference: This is the song we based the wedding march on -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_lUyW_SJ8o

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested, Prowl's swimming lessons appeared in my AUgust stories, here: [Dealer's Choice (Barbarian AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525222/chapters/36926628).


End file.
